A gun did go off, but it wasn’t the rifle in Garver’s hands. Instead, Sol had rolled away from the kid and pulled his trigger to knock Garver onto his back like he was a target in a shooting gallery. Sol fired again out of blind reflex, but that bullet hissed through the air over Garver’s squirming body.
‘‘Jesus!’’ the kid hollered through a bloody mouth.
When Sol looked down at him, the kid still had a pistol gripped in his hand. Even with that gun in his possession, the kid was more concerned with digging his heels into the dirt beneath him and pushing away.
‘‘Don’t kill me!’’ the kid begged. ‘‘Please don’t kill me.’’
Sol could hear Garver moaning in pain, but that man didn’t look like he would be quick to sit up any time soon. Getting to his feet, Sol kept his rifle aimed at the kid until he could reach down and take away his gun. The kid gave it up as if the pistol had been burning his hands.
‘‘Where’s the money you stole?’’ Sol asked.
The kid kept shuffling away upon his back. When he started to push himself upright using both hands, the kid was stopped by the sight of Sol aiming his rifle directly at him. The kid clenched his eyes shut and rolled onto his side.
‘‘Don’t shoot me. Please,’’ the kid whined.
The thing that struck Sol as so peculiar was how calm he felt at that moment. His thoughts were collected enough for him to take a moment and look around. He assessed the situation as though he was deciding where he should pound the first nail when mending a fence.
Since the kid wasn’t even looking at him, Sol shifted his attention over to Garver. He’d been hit in the left side, somewhere toward the bottom of his ribs or possibly just beneath his rib cage. Even though he writhed in pain, Garver still fought to keep possession of his rifle. He didn’t have enough strength to maintain his grip upon the weapon, however, once Sol scooped his toe beneath the rifle and snapped his leg to send the rifle flying through the air.
‘‘Where’s the money?’’ Sol asked.
"We were . . . just making the delivery,’’ Garver grunted.
‘‘Tell me where it is.’’
Pulling in a deep breath, Garver forced his eyes to open all the way so he could get a clear look at Sol. Grinning, he said, ‘‘You’re that fella who tried to chase us out of town.’’
‘‘I did chase you out of town. Where’s the money?’’
‘‘So you aim to shoot us for it?’’
Now that he’d had a better chance to look at Garver’s wounded side, Sol could see some striking similarities between that wound and Matt’s wound. Both were fairly bloody, but didn’t seem to affect either man’s ability to talk. Since Garver was already trying to sit up, it seemed the wound was far from lethal.
‘‘What’s Charlie paying you?’’ Garver asked. ‘‘Probably three or four hundred?’’
‘‘Where is it?’’
Garver glared up at Sol with the grin still smeared across his face.
Hearing a few sharp breaths coming from the kid, Sol caught sight of him crawling toward the gun he’d dropped before. Sol shifted his aim toward the kid and pulled his trigger. The Winchester bucked against his shoulder, but put a round into the dirt rather than into the kid. Fortunately, that dirt had only been an inch or two from the kid’s knee and that was plenty close enough to drop the kid right back onto his side and curl him up like a dying caterpillar.
Sol looked back to Garver as soon as the shot was fired. The fire in his eyes was more than enough to wipe the grin off of Garver’s face.
‘‘Who the hell are you?’’ Garver asked.
‘‘That doesn’t matter.’’
‘‘Are you a hired gun?’’
Sol didn’t reply.
Letting out a sigh, Garver shook his head and grumbled, ‘‘You either got some real sand or you ain’t got a brain in your head to come after us all alone like this.’’
‘‘Don’t make me ask you again,’’ Sol said as he sighted along the top of the Winchester.
‘‘The money’s in those saddlebags,’’ Garver replied as he waved toward a pile that looked to be all of the men’s combined belongings.
‘‘Which ones?’’
After scowling a bit, Garver said, ‘‘All three of them.’’
‘‘All right, then. What about some rope?’’ Hearing some more commotion coming from the kid, Sol stepped back so he could keep an eye on both of the men at the same time. ‘‘Get some rope, kid.’’
The youngest of the robbers twitched at the sound of Sol’s voice. Before Sol had to repeat himself, the kid crawled over to one of the horses and reached up toward the saddle.
‘‘Just the rope,’’ Sol warned. ‘‘Don’t be stupid.’’
Freezing with his arms extended toward the saddle, the kid barely seemed to have realized that he’d also been reaching toward the boot hanging from that saddle. He moved especially slow as he carefully took the coiled rope hanging from the saddle and walked toward Sol.
Within minutes, Sol had the kid tie Garver up. Sol then pressed the Winchester’s barrel into the small of the kid’s back and quickly tied up that one’s wrists and ankles. When he stepped back to admire what he’d done, Sol could scarcely believe he’d pulled it off. Rather than strand the men at the camp without a horse, Sol left one animal behind and gathered up the other two.
Sol half expected one of the robbers to surprise him by breaking loose and taking another shot at him. The knots held just fine, however, allowing Sol to get the horses and load the saddlebags onto their backs. Just to be certain, he flipped a few of those bags open to get a look inside. Although one of them wasn’t even half-full, the rest were stuffed with wads of bundled cash. When he walked back to the campfire, Sol could hear one of the men making a noise. It was the kid. He was crying.
‘‘I told you,’’ the kid whimpered. ‘‘I told you he’d kill us. I should’a never agreed to help you.’’
‘‘Just shut up, will you?’’ Garver grunted.
Sol collected all the pistols he could find and then led the horses toward the ridge.
‘‘What about us?’’ Garver asked. ‘‘You just gonna leave us here?’’
Sol kept walking.
‘‘We can split the money,’’ Garver shouted. ‘‘Forget about this little baby with me, we can work real good together! I can make you rich!’’
Sol walked around the ridge to where his gray gelding was waiting.
‘‘We could be partners!’’ Garver hollered. ‘‘That way I won’t have to hunt you down to get that money back!’’ Although Sol didn’t respond to that, the kid must have had something to say because Garver quickly followed up with ‘‘Aw, good Lord, stop yer blubbering!’’
Chapter 7
The ride back into Warren was a slow one. Night had fallen and most anyone would have known better than to keep moving when their horse could barely see where its next step was going to land. There was half a moon hanging in the sky, which gave Sol something to go by. Once his eyes had adjusted, the glow from all the stars overhead seemed to add a dim shine to the moon’s pale luminescence.
Critters were out and about, sniffing at Sol as if they knew for certain the man’s eyes weren’t sharp enough to see them. It felt as if the whole world was slowing down and taking a rest. Sol lifted his chin to the shifting winds and closed his eyes. Rather than take a breath, he merely allowed the night air to fill his lungs. It was cool and left the taste of the desert in the back of his throat. When he opened his eyes again, he looked up at what could have been hundreds of little holes that had been shot into the roof overhead. The more he looked at all those points of light, he thought there could be thousands of them. Truth be told, he’d never really put much thought into counting them. Sol had always wondered what became of those rounds that were fired up into the air on New Year’s Day or any other time when folks wanted to make noise. He chuckled before allowing his thoughts drift back to things he knew more about.
&nbs
p; One thing he knew for certain was that he was carrying an awful lot of money. The saddlebags had been heavy when he’d loaded them onto the horses, and a few of them were even bulging at their seams. Another thing he knew was that he was lucky to be alive. That little bit of certainty made Sol look up again at the sky and drink in the sight of it.
His heart raced in his chest, making the blood rush through his veins like a whitewater current. Because of that, Sol couldn’t just pick a spot and make camp. He was too excited after his fight with those robbers and the night was too beautiful for him to let it slip by while his eyes were closed.
Sol decided to keep riding into town. He would take it slow and easy so the horses wouldn’t get tripped up in the dark. Now that the ridge was behind him and he knew where he was headed, the mostly flat terrain didn’t have much to throw at him. Still, Sol didn’t pretend to know every crack in the ground or every spot that might pose a threat. The simple fact of the matter was that he wouldn’t have been able to sit still if his life depended on it.
When he got back to town, Sol decided he would buy himself a drink.
He’d earned it.
It turned out that Sol bought himself a few drinks. Rather than go to the Railway Saloon, he stumbled into a place on the edge of town that had been there since before Warren had even tried to call itself a town. The only marking the old tent had was the word SALOON painted across the front. A good portion of those letters had faded from the sun or been washed away by the wind, but everyone in town knew the place served whiskey. Few locals went there anymore now that they had other saloons like the Railway to fill that need, but Sol was too tired to go any farther.
After his first drink, he bought another. Before he knew it, he’d polished off the better portion of a bottle and still hadn’t felt more than a slight spinning behind his eyes. When he was finally too tired to stand up, Sol slapped down enough money to pay for his bottle and then walked to one of the tables in the back.
To be fair, calling the crooked collection of planks ‘‘tables’’ was being generous. Even calling the splintered old door lying flat on its side ‘‘a bar’’ was stretching things awfully thin. Sol got to his table, laid his head down and drifted to sleep.
He awoke with a start and jumped to his feet. The sky outside had taken on a fuzzy shade of red and, rather than check the time, Sol rushed outside to where he’d left his horse and the two he’d taken from the robbers. There were a few kids poking around the animals. One of them was a teen with a rough face and angry eyes.
‘‘Get away from there!’’ Sol snapped.
The teen still had one hand upon one of the robbers’ horses’ flank and kept it there. ‘‘We ain’t doin’ nothin’,’’ he grunted.
As Sol took another couple of steps forward, he snarled at the kids before he realized what he was doing. ‘‘I said back away.’’
The younger kids scattered and the teen took a few steps back.
‘‘Sorry, mister,’’ the teen said as he tried to keep his composure. ‘‘Honest mistake is all it was.’’ With that minimal effort to show he wasn’t scared, he turned and bolted.
Sol relaxed a bit and examined the horses. All the saddlebags were in place and none of them appeared to have been opened. Just to be certain, he reached out to take a look inside them for himself. It wasn’t until then that he realized his right hand had come to a rest upon his holstered pistol sometime while he’d been approaching the kids.
No wonder those young ones had changed their tune so quickly.
Although Sol had been amazed that he could leave all that money sitting outside like that, he was even more surprised that he’d reached for his gun when addressing a bunch of children and one smart-mouthed boy.
He certainly wasn’t accustomed to hauling around so much money. As for the second half of his quandary, Sol had no explanation.
All the money seemed to be there. Since the kids hadn’t been nearly slick enough to pocket a few bills before scattering, Sol figured he had an angel looking out for him. The sky was growing brighter and the watch in Sol’s pocket told him it was coming up to seven o’clock in the morning. Rather than go back into the filthy little saloon, he gathered up all the horses’ reins and led them farther into town.
A couple folks looked Sol’s way, but they tipped their hats as if nothing had transpired since the last time they’d crossed paths. Sol didn’t feel like playing along with the usual niceties, so he kept his head down and his mouth shut until he reached Charlie’s house.
Sol knocked on the door out of reflex and suddenly felt foolish for doing so. Rather than wait to be beckoned, he pushed the door open and walked inside. Charlie was pulling his belt tight around his thick waist and waddling toward the door.
‘‘Hey!’’ Charlie grunted. ‘‘This is my home! You’ll knock if you wanna see me ’fore business hours.’’
‘‘This is business,’’ Sol replied. ‘‘And I didn’t think you’d want me to wait.’’
‘‘You find my money?’’
Sol nodded.
Seeing that was enough to bring a smile to Charlie’s face. ‘‘Well, that’s a different story. Where is it?’’
Pushing the door all the way open, Sol turned and walked toward the horses. When he saw Charlie step up next to him, Sol waved toward the animals and the bags that were hung across their backs.
‘‘It’s in those saddlebags,’’ Sol said.
Charlie rushed to the horses like a child running toward a stack of Christmas presents. He tried to lift the first bag, but grunted and had to let it go so he could collect his strength. ‘‘This is heavy. You wanna give me a hand?’’
Sol draped one set of saddlebags over his shoulder and carried another. Charlie rushed back out to make a second trip so he could get the rest of the money inside his house. Once that was done, he slammed the door shut and locked it.
‘‘Take a seat,’’ Charlie said. ‘‘I need to count it up.’’
Sol didn’t make a move toward any of the chairs and Charlie was too preoccupied to notice. He pulled open the first bag and shoved his hands inside. It was odd to see a man who looked as rough as a piece of dried leather handle something as delicately as Charlie handled that money. Judging by the expression on Charlie’s face, the mine’s boss might have thought he’d break those bills if he didn’t show them the proper respect.
‘‘You didn’t tell me there would be so much,’’ Sol said.
‘‘Hush up,’’ Charlie grunted. ‘‘You’ll make me lose count.’’
Waiting until Charlie was focused once more upon his task, Sol added, ‘‘It would have been good to know what I was after.’’
‘‘Why? So you could gouge me for a bigger fee?’’
‘‘Don’t you think I deserve it?’’
Although Charlie had to stop what he was doing, he didn’t seem to mind sitting behind his desk with his hands buried in the money. The saddlebags were stacked beside him and he hunched over like a hawk guarding a fresh kill. ‘‘If all my money’s here, you’ll get your fee. What about the bonus?’’
Sol pulled aside his jacket to display the kid’s pistol tucked beneath his gun belt. ‘‘Is that good enough?’’
‘‘Took that right off of them yellow thieves?’’
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘That mean they’re dead?’’ Charlie asked. When he didn’t get a reply, he grunted, ‘‘I reckon that’ll do.’’
Sol’s jacket snagged upon the gun handle, so both his gun and the kid’s were in plain sight.
Charlie waved at Sol as if he was shooing away a fly. ‘‘Hell, I barely thought you’d go out there after those thieves.’’
‘‘I told you I would.’’
‘‘Yeah, but . . . I guessed you’d never make it back alive if you tried something as foolish as that.’’
Nodding slowly, Sol glared at Charlie and asked, ‘‘Really? Is that what you thought?’’
Although Charlie was smirking when he looke
d up from his money, that glib expression didn’t last too long when he saw the look in Sol’s eyes. Charlie glanced down toward Sol’s right hand, which was hanging a bit too close to his holster. ‘‘Well, not that I wanted you dead. Aww, you know what I mean.’’
‘‘Yes. I know exactly what you mean.’’
Charlie nodded in what he thought was a shared joke and continued counting his money. It didn’t take him long to get through the first set of saddlebags, so he hefted the next one onto his desk and repeated the process.
Sol stood by the door and watched. Every so often, he glanced out the window, but didn’t see much of anything outside to hold his interest. As much as it turned his stomach to do so, Sol looked back at Charlie. ‘‘So you just thought I was going to run out there and die?’’ he asked.
Charlie didn’t look up from his counting, but his hands stopped. In fact, for a couple of seconds, Charlie looked like a big, poorly carved statue propped up behind an old desk. ‘‘No,’’ he muttered. ‘‘I said I’d pay you, didn’t I?’’
‘‘Sure. A hundred dollars. Even those robbers guessed you’d pay a whole lot more than that.’’
‘‘So you’re after my money, is that it?’’
Sol shook his head. ‘‘I just don’t see why you’d let me go riding off without knowing what I needed to know.’’
‘‘I was robbed,’’ Charlie snarled. ‘‘What could I have told you?’’
‘‘What they looked like, for one thing. Also, how you knew them.’’
Charlie’s hand twitched so hard when he heard those words that he dropped the bills he’d been holding.
‘‘Those men knew you by name. They also got away with so much money that they had to have known when you’d have that much on you. I know for a fact you send a good portion of your money into Albuquerque every week on the Wednesday stage that passes through here.’’
‘‘Oh, you know all that, do you?’’
‘‘Yes,’’ Sol replied with a nod. ‘‘I’ve helped load those stages for you because you’re too lazy to get up off your own fat ass and do it yourself.’’
That brought Charlie to his feet real quick. ‘‘What did you just say to me?’’
Death of a Bad Man Page 6
