by Robert Knott
“Who?” Virgil said.
“Cotters,” Eddie said. “Two fellas, name Cotter.”
Virgil looked and me and shook his head a little.
—58—
What sort of bad dealings?” Virgil said.
Eddie Winslow wasn’t a big fella, but he looked to be as tough as they come. He was an angular, rawboned cowboy with a dark complexion and steely eyes.
“Tell him, Eddie,” Swickey said.
Eddie swiveled in his chair a little, facing Virgil, and placed his strong hands on the table in front of him.
“Me and my partner, Jim Lee, we was working for an outfit up on the north fork of the Red,” Eddie said. “Things petered out for us, and we come down this way. Jim was from this part of the country. We hired on with an outfit between Yaqui and here, pretty good-size outfit.”
“What outfit?” Virgil said.
“Rancher’s name is Westmorland,” Eddie said.
Swickey shook his head.
“Don’t think Westmorland is any part of this,” Swickey said. “I don’t know him, but I know of him. He’s a second-generation rancher and he’s a family man, always had a good reputation. I’d be surprised if he had any part in this, but of course you never know.”
Eddie nodded.
“He was fair; seemed so, anyway,” Eddie said. “He was good to us, fed us good, paid us regular and treated us good. He had some good hands, too, but then these two fellas hired on, them Cotters. They seemed nice enough to me, but I’m a dumbass. Jim was the one that said they was up to no good, and sure enough he was right.”
Eddie stopped talking for a moment. He looked down at his hands clasped on the table in front of him, then looked back up to Virgil and continued.
“Jim come back one night and told me them two asked him if he’d consider throwing in with them, doing a job with them.”
“What kind of job?” Virgil said.
Eddie glanced to Swickey, then looked back to Virgil.
“Jim didn’t spell it all out, exactly,” Eddie said. “Had to do with shutting down the bridge that was being built over the Rio Blanco, though. Said there’d be good money involved.”
Eddie stopped talking when O’Malley came to the table with a pot of coffee and two extra cups.
“Here ya go,” O’Malley said.
Eddie watched O’Malley walk away, then started talking again.
“See, my friend Jim was a rough sonofabitch and all the hands knew he spent time in Brigham’s Hole in Salt Lake for holding up a bank and killing a teller. These two Cotter hands figured Jim was a good pick for doing something dirty. But Jim had given up his wicked ways. He told them to fuck off, that he didn’t want no part of nothing that would put him back behind bars.”
“Where is Jim?”
Eddie looked to his hands again, then looked back up to Virgil, shaking his head.
“Dead,” Eddie said. “That following day was Jim’s last day on God’s green Earth.”
Virgil looked to me.
“What happened?” I said.
Eddie took his time before saying anything.
“Them two killed him is what happened,” Eddie said, looking intently at Virgil. “He didn’t go along with their shit and they for sure killed him. They did their lying best to pin it on Mexican rustlers. Mexican rustlers, shit . . . They had Jim’s horse when they come back, too. I knew damn good what happened.”
“What’d you do?”
“While they were spinning their bullshit yarn,” Eddie said, “telling the day boss what went down, I got on my horse and got the hell outta there.”
“You never saw them again?” Virgil said.
“No,” Eddie said. “I got out of there and didn’t look back. I was owed money, too, but I just got out of there while the getting was good. They knew Jim and me was good friends and I figured it’d be just a matter of time ’fore they did the same thing to me they done to Jim. I just run off.”
Eddie looked to me, then back to Virgil.
“I knew where they’d been working that day,” Eddie said. “I rode out and found Jim’s body.”
“Where?” Virgil said.
“He was hanging from a goddamn scrub oak,” Eddie said. “They strung him up.”
Eddie stopped talking for a moment. He looked away, then back at Virgil with a fierce expression on his face.
“They tortured Jim,” Eddie said, shaking his head slowly from side to side. “It was like they enjoyed it or something. His face was all swollen and . . . his trousers was down . . . it was . . .”
—59—
Cotters done it?” Virgil said. “You’re certain?”
Eddie nodded.
“Hell, yes, they did,” Eddie said. “Jim saw something in them the first day. He told me to stay away from them. He told me they was no good and he was right.”
“Tell me everything else you know about them,” Virgil said.
“Don’t know nothing, really,” Eddie said.
“What’d they look like?” I said.
“They kind of looked alike,” Eddie said. “Twenty-eight, thirty maybe, one was a little older, bigger, they both are good-size fellas, beards . . . I don’t know.”
“Any idea where they are, or where they could be?” Virgil said.
Eddie shook his head.
“I don’t,” Eddie said. “But Jim’s handle for them was ‘them boys from the brakes.’”
“The brakes?” I said.
Eddie nodded.
“Yaqui Brakes?” I said.
“I don’t know,” Eddie said. “Jim knew this country. I guess he was talking about the Yaqui Brakes, I don’t know. Jim said they bragged they had their own whorehouse or some shit, and that they’d supply him with all the ax he could handle.”
“Whorehouse?” I said.
Eddie nodded.
“You sure about that?”
“That’s what Jim said,” Eddie said.
“We been through there, Virgil,” I said.
“We have,” he said.
“Where is this,” Swickey said. “The Yaqui Brakes?”
“Brush country,” I said. “Off the tracks in bottomland between here and Yaqui.”
Virgil nodded.
“Rough holdout place,” Virgil said.
“It is,” I said. “Scrawny creek through there. Summer was sixty, seventy transient tenters, campers, when we was through there. Winter now, won’t be as many down there, I’d say. Southern no-good holdouts, mostly.”
Eddie nodded.
“Those boys were southerners,” Eddie said. “That’s for damn sure.”
“Whorehouse down there seems like the type of place they’d be,” I said.
“Least till they felt like they were in the clear,” Virgil said.
“Not that far,” I said. “Worth a try.”
“You going there?” Eddie said.
Virgil looked at me.
“If so,” Eddie said. “And if it’s okay with you, Mr. Swickey, I want to go with them.”
“Let these men do their job, Eddie,” Swickey said.
“Jim was my only family,” Eddie said.
“No matter,” Swickey said.
“Does matter,” Eddie said.
“These men are lawmen, Eddie,” Swickey said.
“There ain’t been a day gone by since I saw him hanging there that I’ve not thought about him, Mr. Swickey,” Eddie said. “He was good to me. We’d been together for a good long while. He taught me a lot. When I rode away that day, I felt like a coward for not going back and standing up for what was in my heart, and I’ve felt like a coward every day since . . . If it’s okay, I’d like to go.”
Swickey started to speak, but Eddie continued.
“But if you don’t want me to,” Eddie said, “I understand, but if so I quit.”
“Quit?” Swickey said.
“Just as soon quit you, Mr. Swickey,” Eddie said, “than to let Jim go like this, like I done.”
E
ddie looked to Virgil and me.
“I’m no gun hand,” Eddie said. “Not really good with one, but I can be helpful. Just as soon die as live another day thinking about them and what they done to Jim.”
Swickey looked at Eddie for a long moment, then looked to Virgil.
“What about the ranchers?” Swickey said.
“What about them?” Virgil said.
“What is your order of priority?” Swickey said.
“As in looking for them?” Virgil said.
“Yes,” Swickey said. “I don’t know the new upstarts over here, but I do know some names of some of the older groups that could, not saying they are, but could, be behind this.”
“Better to snuff out the wick before pouring out the oil,” Virgil said.
“Is,” I said. “At least since we know the Yaqui Brakes might well prove to be their whereabouts.”
“No guarantee,” Swickey said.
“Never is,” Virgil said.
“You gonna go?” Eddie said.
“We are,” Virgil said.
“Okay I go?” Eddie said.
Virgil looked to me.
I nodded.
Virgil looked to Swickey.
Swickey looked to Eddie, then Virgil, and nodded.
“What would you like for me to do, Marshal Cole?” Swickey said.
“The best we can hope for,” Virgil said, “is we capture one of these mutts and get to the bottom of who paid them to do what they did. If for some reason that don’t play out for us in that fashion, you could let me know the names of outfits that you feel might be behind this.”
“Already have,” Swickey said.
Swickey pulled out a piece of paper from his vest pocket and handed it to Virgil.
Virgil looked at the paper. He read it and handed it to me.
“Good enough,” Virgil said.
“When will you go to the brakes?” Swickey said.
“Now,” Virgil said.
“And Eddie?” Swickey said.
Virgil looked to Eddie.
“You think you got the stomach for this?” Virgil said.
“I don’t got the stomach not to,” Eddie said.
Virgil nodded and stood up. He walked to the side door and looked out. He stepped outside.
“Skinny Jack,” Virgil called out. “Come here.”
Virgil walked back into the room and looked at everyone looking at him.
“Here we go,” Virgil said.
—60—
We left Swickey and his other hands at the Boston House and made our way back to the front of the sheriff’s office, where we met with Chastain and readied ourselves to ride.
“What if they ain’t there?” Chastain said.
“Then they ain’t there,” Virgil said.
“If they are there,” Chastain said, “you think they will all be there? Still be together?”
Virgil looked to me.
“Good chance,” I said.
“Is,” Virgil said.
“Like a pack of dogs,” I said.
“Think Ballard will still be among ’em?” Chastain said.
“We do,” I said.
“He’s come this far with them,” Virgil said. “And going by what we know of him he could very well be the goddamn stallion of the herd by now.”
“Don’t figure they’ll still be dressed in no blues,” Chastain said. “Do you think?”
Virgil looked to me.
“Don’t think so,” I said.
“Wouldn’t be very fitting to wear a Union uniform in a holdout camp,” Virgil said.
“Never know, though,” I said.
Virgil nodded.
“They might,” he said.
“Might all think it a goddamn funny novelty,” I said.
“Well, let’s say they don’t,” Chastain said. “And like you, I doubt they’d still be tramping around in uniforms, so how the hell will we know these men?”
Virgil pointed to Eddie.
“Eddie knows the faces of the two of them,” Virgil said. “The Cotters.”
Eddie nodded.
“I damn sure do,” he said.
“I know one of them,” I said. “When I saw them ride by Hal’s on their way into town. I won’t forget that face. Not ever. I suspect he was one of the Cotters.”
“And Ballard’s a cock hound,” Virgil said. “Tall, handsome man, longhorn mustache. Got a good idea we’ll know him.”
I nodded.
“They all had Union saddles,” I said. “McClellans. They didn’t bother to take our men’s saddles when they killed their horses, so unless they had some other saddles someplace or bought some saddles, we’ll have that to look for.”
“That leaves four more,” Chastain said. “How will we know them?”
“Don’t suppose we’ll know,” Virgil said. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and find that Ballard and the Cotters strung them up like the others they’ve left in their wake.”
We left Skinny Jack and Book to keep the peace in Appaloosa and the four of us, Virgil, Chastain, Eddie, and me, rode out of the city just before eleven o’clock, and headed for the Yaqui Brakes.
The snow had stopped falling and the clouds looked to be separating some, but the roads were snow-covered and the ride was slow going.
The brakes were a good five miles of high, thick brush with passages through them that led to a central camp where the tents were pitched next to the creek.
There were other holdout camps like the Yaqui Brakes, and this one was not unlike the others we’d seen. Holdout camps consisted of mostly nonconforming southern miscreants and rabble-rousers who thought the war was still going on, or at least thought it should be going on. They were uncomfortable being around anyone who wasn’t as crossways as they were or thought the way they thought.
The bad news about the Yaqui Brakes was there were at least ten ways in and ten ways out.
As we neared the brakes the snow was not as deep as it was back in the Appaloosa direction, and the riding became increasingly easier.
Late in the afternoon, when we came upon a low section of land where the rail and the road next to the rail turned to the west, I stopped and looked back to the others trailing behind me.
“This is it,” I said, pointing to the lowland to our left.
Virgil nodded and looked around.
“It is,” Virgil said.
“How far, in there?” Chastain said.
“Five miles, maybe,” I said.
“How do you want to go about this?” Chastain said.
“Want to wait till dark,” Virgil said.
—61—
It’s damn near dark now,” I said.
“It is,” Virgil said.
“We go in the dark and see them,” Chastain said, “in their camp light and they don’t see us?”
“That’d be the idea,” Virgil said.
“It’s a long walk in there,” I said, “but that’s the only way, I’d say. Don’t you think, Virgil?”
“I do,” Virgil said.
“So we go in on foot?” Chastain said.
“We do,” Virgil said. “Taking horses in there would be like wearing cowbells.”
We rode down into the low section and followed the rail for a while until we came to a truss bridge where the rails crossed over a wash.
It was damn near dark when we dismounted under the bridge and got our horses secured and readied our weapons.
“How we gonna go about taking out hornets and not disrupting the whole nest?” Chastain said.
“Holdouts for the most part are blowhards,” Virgil said.
“They are,” I said.
“Yep,” Virgil said. “That’s why they bunch together like they do.”
“You don’t think they’ll have bigger balls the more they are?” Chastain said.
“There is no way of knowing for sure just how this will go down,” Virgil said. “But they will not know how many we are.”
Chastain nodded and pu
lled his carbine from its scabbard.
“If the situation calls for it,” Virgil said, “we’ll let them all know they are surrounded.”
“What situation would that be?” Chastain said.
“Don’t know all the particulars,” Virgil said. “I suspect we’ll know if and when that sort of declaration needs to be made.”
“Weather’s in our favor,” I said.
“It is,” Virgil said.
Chastain nodded.
“Not exactly the kind of weather for lying on a blanket and watching the stars,” Chastain said.
“Not,” Virgil said. “The lot will be hunkered inside where it’s warm.”
Chastain cocked his carbine.
“We go?” Chastain said.
“We do,” Virgil said.
“What do you want me to do?” Eddie said to Virgil.
“Keep that Winchester at ready,” Virgil said. “We’ll all move together, slowly, quietly. When we get close we’ll see what we can see and we’ll go from there.”
We made certain before it was too dark that we found an entrance into the brakes. We followed the path down toward the creek and in no time it was so dark we couldn’t see a foot in front of our face. We relied on the brush on either side of the path to guide us as we moved through the darkness.
We walked and walked for more than an hour and it seemed we were moving in circles, but then we heard some distant laughter and we knew we were near.
After walking a little while longer and as we got closer we smelled smoke and heard more sounds of the holdouts in front of us.
Virgil pulled us close together and whispered, “Let’s keep moving toward them. The very first sign of light we see, we stop.”
We moved on, doing as Virgil said, until we saw through the thickets some light ahead of us and we stopped.
“Everett, you and Chastain stay put,” Virgil said. “Eddie, you come with me. We’ll get a little closer and have a look-see, maybe you can spot one of them?”
Virgil and Eddie moved off and we waited.
After a while we saw the vague outlines of Virgil and Eddie as they made their way back to us.
“What’d ya see?” I said.
“I didn’t see them,” Eddie said.
“We’re on the end of the camp here. Everything is spread out that direction,” Virgil said with a point to his right.
