Dark Shadow

by Roy F. Chandler

  Men came and went in the town with disturbing frequency. More than Punto's band was in Caliente tonight. Logan saw no signs of fiesta or celebration, and the men he saw were Mexican. Perhaps Caliente had grown to its present population. Logan had no interest in what brought men here except that the many would make it harder to single out Punto and his band of raiders.

  Logan studied the town from the south. He had crossed a small ridge that separated the village from bordering fields and bypassed Caliente unseen. The extra mile had lost him daylight, but Punto had posted a lookout at the Rio Grande, and he might do so at Caliente. If there was a watcher, the man would be looking north, from where Punto might expect danger.

  Tobias Brisbane had come to Caliente long before Logan and the scouts had appeared. Brisbane, it was said, had left England after a heinous crime that had followed him even to the United States. Brisbane had fled again to old Mexico and had found a place as a store owner in Caliente.

  Brisbane's Mercantile sold anything its owner could acquire. The few nearby ranches purchased dry goods, harness, candles, and cloth from Brisbane. A sometimes rougher crowd found guns, spurs, whips, saddles, and dynamite. If you wanted rope, Brisbane had it or a gold watch. Brisbane pawned, and his shelves often had gold rings and sometimes a diamond.

  If he still lived, Tobias Brisbane would buy Logan's extra horses and his accumulated guns and ammunition belts. Brisbane had been younger than Logan, but life in Caliente could be tenuous, and more than a few of the hardcases who visited the mercantile must have plotted ways to relieve the proprietor of his money, property, and if necessary, his life.

  Brisbane had not been a foolish or careless man. He wore a pistol in a coat pocket, and outside his store he carried a sawed off shotgun as casually as if it were a Malacca cane. His bodyguard was a cold-faced killer called Japanese Jake. Jake had the hooded eyes of an oriental and the lean, coiled body of a sidewinder. Jake rarely spoke and nodded to few. In Dark Shadow, the bodyguard had apparently sensed a kindred spirit because he had regularly passed the time of day with Joshua Logan.

  If Japanese Jake lived, it was probable that Tobias Brisbane did as well. Logan hoped so because he could deal with Brisbane quickly and with almost a fair exchange.

  Before the light truly failed Logan rode in. He stayed on low ground behind the street buildings and turned into the Mercantile's corrals. Barely visible in the dusk, Brisbane's sign was still in place. It would be matched by the one on the storefront. Josh thought it might be the same sign from twenty years earlier. It said only Brisbane Merc.

  A trio of young Mexican boys played among the pole fences. Logan hailed them.

  "Ninos!" He waved them forward.

  "I will pay a man's wages for you to care for my animals. Are you interested?"

  Interested? As one they surged to him.

  Logan picked a youth and summoned his Spanish. "You will water the extra horses, and place their saddles and bridles on Senor Brisbane's fence. After that you will feed each horse hay and grain from Senor Brisbane's bins.

  "You," Logan chose a second youth, "will water and feed my horse and mule. While they feed, you will fill my grain sacks from Senor Brisbane's bins. Then you will tie the animals to this rail." Logan placed his hand on the corral rail he wanted. "Do not unsaddle my animals or loosen their cinches for I may leave suddenly."

  Logan turned to the last hopeful youth. "And you, Chico, will carry these guns and belts, and knives, and canteens into Senor Brisbane's store and place them on the trading counter." Logan held them with his eye. "Then, if you do not forget, you can come to the store, and I will pay you what you have earned."

  Logan limped up the dirt path to the Mercentile's rear door. He opened and entered quietly, his Spencer ready, his Sharps slung. Behind him the boys exclaimed and wondered aloud how much they would get. The senor seemed a generous man they decided, so a Yankee quarter seemed most possible.

  For a moment, Logan thought the trading room was empty, then there was slight movement in a shadowed corner, and Logan saw the lean figure resting on a leather chair just as it had years before, a shotgun across the chair arms and a rifle close by. Did the lips smile a little? Logan thought they did.

  Logan actually felt pleasure in again seeing the man. Strange, they had only spoken and had never eaten or drank together. Perhaps he had simply reached an age where men from his past were pleasurable to encounter.

  "Jake?" Logan raised his hand in greeting.

  Japanese Jake’s voice was as usual noncommittal, but he said, "Logan," as if they had seen each other a day before.

  Logan asked, "Is Tobias handy? I’ve some trading to do."

  Jake nodded, "He is coming now."

  Logan heard nothing, but a moment later Tobias Brisbane appeared from another room.

  Unlike his bodyguard, Brisbane was clearly astonished and pleased.

  "Josh Logan? For God's sake I thought you must have died. How long has it been? Twenty, twenty-five years? By the Old Harry, it is good to see you, Dark Shadow."

  Brisbane's grip was enthusiastic, and Logan was pleased to be fondly remembered.

  The Mexican boy struggled in, important with his duties, but burdened with all he could carry.

  Brisbane said, "Ah ha, you have not returned just to talk of old times."

  Logan smiled, "That, too, old friend, but I have two horses in your corral along with their leather. I want to sell them and this pile of hardware swiftly but fairly. The less I am in town the better it could be."

  Brisbane called in Spanish and an older Mexican appeared. The trader explained. "Jose will judge your animals, and we will talk." Brisbane turned his attention to the rifles and ammunition.

  Logan thought, God, another Jose. Everyone in Mexico must be named Jose. Probably they were all related.

  He stepped to the dirt crusted front window and studied the street. Men were moving about, but no one was heading toward the store.

  Brisbane had lived in Caliente a long time, and he said, "If someone comes, Logan, just step into the next room until they leave." Logan appreciated the gesture and said so.

  Brisbane had aged, but Logan would have recognized him. Japanese Jake as well, and Logan thought that it was peculiar how a man retained much of what he had been almost until he died.

  Logan asked, "You've been well, Tobias?"

  "I could complain, Logan, but who would care? My wife ran off with a younger man. Took a big poke of money with her. It cost me most of what she took to run her down and get everything except her back." Brisbane paused. "Well, her man did not come back either, as a matter of fact."

  "Ever consider going home, Tobias, to either England or north to the states?"

  The Englishman snarled around the pencil he was licking. "Of course I think about it. Maybe I will one of these days."

  He looked up questioningly. "You've likely traveled a piece up there, Logan; where would be a proper place to head for?"

  Surprised that Brisbane was interested, Logan hesitated for a moment. "Oregon or Washington State, Tobias. It is still new country up there. The weather is decent, and there is great opportunity."

  "Opportunity? Hell, Logan, I'd just want a comfortable place to finish out my days. I'm not looking for work, just peace without a bunch of drunken, gun-hung outlaws threatening me about every day."

  Logan was quick this time. "Then California is your state. Perfect weather, decent roads, interesting people moving in all the time, all that a man could desire."

  "Well, Jake and I just might ride on out of here. I'm tired of squeezing every trade just trying to make ends meet. Maybe we'll be for California."

  Logan placed his shattered ammunition box on the counter. "I need a new one of these, Tobias. A bullet busted the thing wide open."

  Brisbane scratched at his chin. "No wonder you limp like a wooden-legged man, but finding these military boxes is no longer easy. Everybody with a Spencer wants one. The only one I have is my personal box, and I would no
t want to let it go."

  Logan groaned aloud. "Tobias, my old and dear friend, we both know that you have nothing that is not for sale, and I need an ammunition box right now. Go get yours, and leave the tubes in it. I will need three new ones."

  Brisbane offered his own despairing moan, and added, "A man can possess nothing these days, Dark Shadow." He left the room and quickly returned with his ammunition box. He placed it beside Logan's, still muttering about everyone demanding the very teeth from his head.

  They bargained, with Logan keeping an eye on the street. By purchasing supplies instead of taking all cash, Josh got about what he expected.

  Brisbane spoke in rapid Spanish to his man who quickly departed, then explained to Logan. "Jose is moving your horses out to a place I've got beyond town. The animals you brought in won't be so noticeable out there."

  He cleared his throat as he laid out paper, pen, and his ink well. "Scratch me out Bills of Sale for the horses, Logan. They might help a little when I try to sell the beasts."

  Brisbane paused and again cleared his throat. "The fact is, Logan, one of those horses has a brand I've seen before, and hard men ride that brand. Some of 'em are in town now, and you having that horse and these guns makes me understand why you're watching the street."

  Logan's interest quickened. "I noticed the brand, Tobias. It looks like a big S, maybe put on with a running iron. You know that ranch?"

  Brisbane smiled thinly. "I don't know that, but I know something about the brand."

  Logan said, "Well..." but the trader's hand stopped him.

  "We've known each other a long time, Dark Shadow, but information is also my business, and I'm not likely to forget business."

  Logan's smile was grim. "No, you aren't likely to forget. So, what will it cost me to know what you know?"

  Before Brisbane could answer, Logan's three helpers appeared, ragged hats against their chests, eyes expectant.

  "Well," Logan said, attempting to sound severe, "are the horses watered and grained?"

  Three voices answered. "Si, Senor Sombra Preta. We have done everything."

  Logan suspected his eyes bugged. Where in God's name had they picked up that name? He heard Brisbane chuckle, and Japanese Jake stirred in his leather chair.

  "Did you grain the animals from Senor Brisbane's bin, and did you fill my sacks from his bin and load them on my mule?"

  Brisbane almost choked, and it was Logan's turn to chuckle. "Good, and now working men must be paid, but I will expect you to sit over there on those barrels until I ride out. Then you will help carry my goods."

  Logan removed a silver dollar from his pocket. He heard their sharp intakes. He frowned, then slowly placed a second beside the first. Even the childish wriggling ceased for two dollars was serious money. In Mexico a man worked two long days for a single dollar. Logan examined the coins as if he had never seen one before, then laid a third in his palm.

  He turned to Brisbane. "Do you think this is too much money for these strong young men's work?"

  Brisbane swore. "It's people like you, Logan, that make it impossible for us working men to hire anybody for fair wages."

  With great ceremony, Logan handed each stunned child a dollar and pointed him to a barrel. Until he left, he did not want word bandied about that a stranger called Dark Shadow, who carried a scoped rifle, was giving money to children.

  Brisbane said, "I'll tell you what I know about the brand. You'll pay me what I ask, and pay for the grain as well. Is it a deal?"

  "It is a deal, Tobias."

  "A white man rides in here every year. He speaks easy Spanish, so he probably lives down here. He gathers about two dozen bandidos and rides out. He turns up later, leaves most of his band here, and disappears.

  "The man is called Punto Negra. He is here now, and he is not a man to be near. He has a mean-eyed Yaqui Indian with him that has been along every year since I can remember. The Yaqui got his hand blown off somehow, and our local healer amputated some more so that he just might live. That part is not sure at all because the wound is nasty.

  "Punto rides a horse with that S brand on its flank. So does the Yaqui and maybe one or two others.

  "Now Yaquis come from way across the Sierra Madre Mountains somewhere. You don't often see them around here. Therefore, it seems logical to me that Punto Negra and a few of his men come from beyond the big mountains."

  Brisbane finished, and Logan said, "Name your price, Tobias, your information is good."

  Brisbane's figure was not high, and Logan paid.

  Then Brisbane said, "From the way you are limping and from the horses you're selling, I figure you've already run onto Punto's crowd, so I reckon you know that I can collect some more by taking the fact of your being here up the road a ways."

  "To Punto you mean?"

  "That would be the idea."

  Logan's smile was deadly, and his words surprised the trader. "I would like that, Tobias, and I can add value to your message.

  "Tell Punto that the sharpshooter who killed his men has just killed three more near the Zapata Water."

  Logan paused to consider. "Then you can do me the favor of telling him about Dark Shadow. Lay it on thick. Tell him how I will hunt until they are all dead like the Bronco Apaches that used to run these mountains."

  Brisbane appeared slightly bemused. "Hell, Logan, you're hoping to flush him out, aren't you? You want him to either run or come out to fight That is it, isn't it?"

  Logan did not smile. "You do not have to tell him that part, Tobias. "Give me a half hour lead before you send Punto the message. By then I will be long on my way."

  Brisbane was more than a little worried. "He has a pile of men, Logan. I'd guess more than a dozen, and they are all killers or they want to be killers. Are you sure ..."

  "I'm sure, friend, just give me that half hour."

  Logan loaded his supplies on his three helpers, and they left by the back door. He wasted no time packing the mule and left the excited boys with a wave. Their shrill calls of "Vaya con Dios, Sombra Preta," drifted after him.

  12

  In other years, Punto had been pleased to return to Caliente because it meant the end of a successful raid, but this time he was stuck in the squalid village waiting to see if Juan would live, and if the truth were known, still worried about the man-killer on their trail.

  He had sent a lookout to the north edge of town to watch for Diego the rat's return, but the rat had not appeared, nor had Manuel, the horse holder, or the girl. They could be taking their time, but their absence raised uncertainty.

  As darkness closed, Punto ordered more lanterns and candles. At least he could have light for his game. To keep his hands busy, he shuffled and dealt a pack of worn cards. He could not drink himself into a comfortable stupor as did most of his men. There were some here who would, if given the chance, stick a knife in his ribs and ride away with his saddlebags.

  Two local ranches had men in town, and their presence also kept Punto sober. The crews had worked together and were now celebrating as one. Punto kept his raiders away from the cowmen because neither side respected the other, and a pitched battle could be ignited with little provocation.

  Juan of one eye sat slumped in a corner chair with his woman fanning insects away from the Indian’s angry looking stump. Stupefied by Maria’s drink, the Yaqui seemed aware of little.

  Punto had felt of his man's forehead, and believed the fever was abating. So, Juan might survive. He had no other like Juan of one eye, so Punto would wait. He resolved to wait three full days. If the stump had not poisoned by then, his foreman would be able to ride and would probably live. Punto shuffled the greasy deck. He would wait, but he doubted he could enjoy it

  Tobias Brisbane used the half hour he had promised Joshua Logan. He sent for a second bodyguard, a physically huge man who wasted his life in Caliente, but a man who handled weapons as if they were extensions of his body. The man was known only as Tug, and he was a gringo. No one asked or knew m
ore.

  When a situation might prove difficult for Jake alone, Brisbane sent for Tug, and the man always appeared with his eight gauge, double barrel shotgun in hand.

  Punto carried a silver plated Colt pistol in a belt holster. When seated, he hitched the pistol to the front so that his hand was never far from the solid silver grips. Brisbane did not believe Punto to be a steady nerved individual, and the presence of the pistol bothered him. It was not unknown for an unsteady man to accept a message poorly and to vent his anger on the message bearer.

  Brisbane’s answer to Punto’s pistol came from a deceased card player who had forgotten his own rule and reached for a bottle with his weapon hand. The storekeeper strapped the gambler’s cylindrical, one shot pistol to his forearm. The piece was fired by movement of his wrist against a short plunger. Brisbane cocked the heavy caliber weapon and gingerly donned his coat.

  Punto could be dead before his own pistol left its holster, but Brisbane was meeting with the raider for profit, not for confrontation. Jake and Tug with their shotguns would help insure that everyone remained peaceful.

  Punto had done business with Brisbane, but the trader’s appearance at the Rooster with two guards raised his hackles. Japanese Jake was enough to give anyone pause, but the monster carrying a gun with stove pipe size bores cooled Punto’s outward exasperation. He had enough men in the saloon to win a battle, but he would be in the center of all the shooting.

  Choosing a chair directly facing the raider, Brisbane set aside his own shotgun and seated himself at Punto’s table. Brisbane’s back was to the room, but with his personal shotgun wielders against the walls no one would make hostile moves.

  The arrogance of sitting down without asking boiled Punto’s blood, and he decided he would think about killing the storekeeper before he rode out. Why not? He would never again come east of the Sierra Madre.