by Ralph Cotton
“Who told you that?” Tinnis asked him.
“Crazy Elmer Fisk,” said Sentanza. “He didn’t say it, but he made me think it, the way he talked.”
“As you can see, I’m not dead,” said the gambler. “You wouldn’t happen to have any whiskey, would you?”
“You already asked me,” said Sentanza. “I told you no.”
Damn it. . . . Tinnis let out a breath.
“Who were you riding with?” Sentanza asked.
“Which time?” said Tinnis.
“This time,” said Sentanza. “The ones you brought into the valley.”
“I rode up here with Crazy Elmer and two others. But I ended up with two bounty hunters and an Arizona Territory Ranger,” he said without hesitation. “The one who killed Junior Lake and his gang.”
“Whoa, that ranger?” said Sentanza. His hand drew tighter around his rifle. “Maybe I will shoot you after all.”
“Be my guest, I hurt too bad to care,” said Tinnis, spreading his arms wide. “The fact is, I had no choice but to bring them. They were just up here anyway. They found me stranded up a mountain pine after my horse walked off the high trail.”
“Off of the high trail?” Sentanza said as if in disbelief. “No wonder Fisk thought you were dead. You are lucky to be alive.”
“That’s a matter of opinion,” said the gambler, wincing from the pain in his head. “Anyway, the ranger and bounty men followed the trail up to where I’d fallen and rode right in. No way could I have led them. I didn’t know the way myself.”
“It’s true I never saw you here before,” said Sentanza, considering things.
Seeing the outlaw wasn’t going to kill him, the gambler let out a painful breath. “Do you want your horse back?”
“Maybe later,” Sentanza said. “Do you have your Colt Thunderer under your arm?”
“No, they took it from me,” said Tinnis. He opened his left lapel and showed Sentanza the empty shoulder holster.
Sentanza considered it. The gambler would not have given up his gun unless he’d been a prisoner. “Are you headed for the cabin?” he asked.
“Yes, I am,” the gambler said agreeably. “Where are you headed?”
“I am headed the same place,” said Sentanza. He lowered the rifle but kept it in hand, his finger still on the trigger. “Why don’t you get back on my horse and I will follow you there?”
The gambler knew he wasn’t really asking.
“Good idea,” Tinnis said, standing and reaching for his reins.
Chapter 12
It was afternoon when the gambler and Sentanza stepped down from the horses out in front of the empty cabin. Seeing that Shear and his men had pulled out, Sentanza turned around in the front doorway and gazed north along a distant jagged hill line. “I know where they are headed,” he said over his shoulder to the gambler who had walked straight to a cupboard and opened both doors wide, searching for whiskey.
“Yeah . . . ?” Tinnis said absently. “And where might that be?” He stepped over to a shelf near the hearth and looked along a line of bottles and spices and herb jars.
“Hatchet Pass,” Sentanza said. “Big Aces will leave some gunmen there to guard his escape while he takes the rest of the men on through Black Valley. Once he’s out, they’ll blow that pass with dynamite. If it don’t kill the lawmen chasing him, it’ll leave them staring at a rock wall.”
“You don’t say,” said the gambler. He gave up on finding whiskey or anything else that might contain enough alcohol to quiet his pain and his jangled nerves. But what he did find was an eight-inch dagger lying beside the hearth. He grabbed it and sized it up in his hand as he turned and looked at Sentanza’s unsuspecting back.
“It’s a good thing for you that I am with you, Tinman,” Sentanza said over his shoulder as Tinnis walked softly toward him with the dagger gripped in his fist.
“Really, and why is that?” Tinnis asked, approaching him quietly from behind.
“Because the gunmen that Big Aces leaves behind will have orders to kill any sonsabitches they don’t recognize riding up the trail behind him.”
Tinnis stopped in his tracks. “There’ll be someone there who’d recognize me.”
“There might be,” said Sentanza, “but unless they know you carry a moon and star, they’ll kill you anyway. That’s the rules of the game.”
“I see,” said Tinnis. He sighed to himself and slid the dagger up the sleeve of his dusty black coat. “Then, lucky for me that you’re with me. Lucky for you that you mentioned it.”
“Oh, and why’s that?” said Sentanza, turning, facing him.
“Pay me no mind, Mingo,” said Tinnis. “Mine are the musings of a drunkard gone dry.”
The two watered and grained their horses and rode on, following a trail of overturned dirt, broken brush, and rock scraped by ironclad hooves. In the long shadows of evening, they stopped at an entrance to a deep canyon, Sentanza having stopped first, then the gambler stopping and nudging his horse up beside him.
“What now?” Tinnis asked, looking all around the canyon edge lying before them.
“Now we wait,” said Sentanza. “They’ve seen us. They know I’m one of them. They see that I’m doing everything just like I’m supposed to.”
“What follows you on your trail, pilgrim?” a voice called out from the nearest jut of rock fifty feet above them.
Sentanza grinned at Tinnis and said quietly between them, “Here’s the difference between you being with me or riding in alone, Tinman.”
Tinnis sat in silence, knowing he had the bead of many rifle sights pinned to his chest.
“Only the light of the moon and the star,” Sentanza called back to the rock and the darkening sky.
“So much for passwords,” said Tinnis. He stared at Sentanza. “Now that I know it, what happens next?”
Sentanza’s grin vanished. “Now we must kill you . . .” He let his words hang suspended for a moment. During that moment, the gambler’s right hand slipped over close to his left coat sleeve, poised and ready. His eyes fixed on Sentanza’s throat, the one inch of beard-stubble flesh between his chin and a dusty sweat-stained bandanna. That’s where he’d put it, straight up from the sleeve across the throat . . . one strike, left to right, he instructed himself.
“. . . or we must take you into the Black Valley Riders, eh?” Sentanza finished, his grin returning only a split second before the gambler made his move for the concealed dagger.
Tinnis felt himself ease down, relax, like a snake uncoiling. “That shouldn’t take very long for me to decide.”
“You don’t decide. We do,” said Sentanza as the clack of a single horse’s hooves came toward them from the mouth of the canyon.
“Then let’s hope all goes favorably,” the gambler said. “The fact of the matter is, I always wondered when I’d be asked.”
“Nobody ever asks you to join the Black Valley Riders,” Sentanza said quietly between them. “You’ve got to be the one who asks to join us. I’m telling you this on the cuff.”
“I’m obliged,” said Tinnis, speaking barely above a whisper now as the rider came closer in the grainy evening light. “When should I ask?”
“You already did. Don’t you remember asking me this morning when I found you on the rock?” He gave Tinnis a sly look.
“How foolish of me,” Tinnis replied with the same look. “Of course I remember.”
The single rider drew closer.
“Why are you doing this for me, Mingo?” Tinnis asked in a whisper, not recalling Sentanza to be one widely known for his generosity.
“It makes it easier for me to explain bringing you here,” said Sentanza.
“Again, obliged,” said Tinnis.
“Don’t thank me,” Sentanza whispered. “Just remember you owe me for it, Tinman.”
“How could I ever forget?” said Tinnis. Raising his voice to the lone rider, he called out, “Hola, Dent Phillips. When did you show up? You weren’t at the cabin when I left to stand look
out, or were you?”
“Hola yourself, Mingo,” said the gunman, staring at Tinnis as he spoke to Sentanza. “I was here at the pass, where Big Aces wanted me.”
“I had no idea,” said Sentanza.
“That’s because he doesn’t tell you everything,” said Phillips. He shot Sentanza a look; then his eyes went back to the gambler. Only half recognizing him, he asked as his hand held his rifle ready and cocked and propped on his thigh, “You are Tinnis Lucas, aren’t you?”
“Indeed I am, sir,” said Tinnis with his Southern accent. “At your service.” He gave a slight bow of his head, keeping both hands holding his reins chest high. “Might I trouble you for a drink?”
“I’ve got nothing for you to drink, Lucas,” he said. He turned to Sentanza. “You best have a damn good reason for bringing him up here.”
“I do,” said Sentanza, his tone turning tight-lipped and guarded.
“Yeah? What is it?” Phillips asked.
“Is Big Aces still here?” Sentanza asked instead of replying.
“Yep,” said Phillips, “he feels safe here. He’s staying the night and pushing on come morning.”
“Good,” said Sentanza. “Big Aces will most likely be happy to tell you my reason, Dent, once I’ve told him.”
“Are you packing anything, Lucas?” he asked the gambler, ignoring Sentanza’s cross attitude.
“Nothing but what the Lord blessed me with at birth, sir,” the gambler replied, opening his lapel slowly and showing him the empty holster.
“Good enough,” Dent Phillips said. He looked back at Sentanza and asked, “Did you make sure your back trail was clear? We’ve got—”
“Who do you think fired those warning shots last night, Phillips?” Sentanza asked sharply, cutting the gunman off.
“No need to get your bark on, Mingo,” said Phillips. “I’m just doing my job.”
“Do it downwind from me,” said Sentanza. He stared hard at the younger gunman. Tinnis sat staring, watching to see who would come out on top.
“All right . . . ,” said Dent Phillips, finally backing down from any further words with Sentanza. “You two can ride on in. But there’s going to be a couple of riflemen riding behind you.”
Ten minutes down the trail into the canyon, the two riders turned onto a path winding around a tall chimney rock. Atop the natural pillar of stone, a gunman stepped into sight and looked down at both of them and the two riders following a few yards behind. Circling the towering rock, the gambler noted a long rope ladder eighty feet long hanging down to the ground.
They rode on, the gambler looking at every path in and out of a hillside maze of rock and crevice. “Here we are, Tinman,” said Sentanza as they stopped their horses and looked down at an earth, plank and boulder cabin partly dug into the hillside below them.
Tinnis sat gazing back and forth at what he decided was a defense fort carved from rock. “As hideouts go, this one should hold its own,” he remarked, looking the place over as they nudged the horses forward down an even thinner, steeper path.
At the bottom of the path they turned and stopped right in front of cabin where Shear sat smoking a thick cigar. On his right stood Elmer Fisk, on his left, Rudy Duckwald. The two paid no attention to Mingo Sentanza. Instead they stood staring with stunned expressions at the bare-headed gambler riding beside him.
Shear also stared at Sentanza, but only giving Tinnis a curt nod. The gambler returned the nod and sat in silence as Shear spoke to Sentanza.
“We heard the warning shots,” he said. “Where’s Dolan Callahan?”
“He’s stone dead,” said Sentanza. “According to Lucas here, the two bounty hunters and ranger tracking Fisk and these two killed him.” He gestured his head toward Fisk and Duckwald, and at Epson, who sat nearby chewing tobacco and whittling. Epson had stopped whittling and chewing when he’d seen the gambler, still alive.
“We never led them here, Big Aces,” Fisk offered, without taking his burning gaze off Sentanza.
“But they didn’t kill you, Mingo,” said Shear. “How come?”
“That was me who fired the warning shots,” said Sentanza, ignoring the question.
Shear nodded. “Good job,” he said. “Now, how come you’re still alive and Callahan’s not?”
“I was relieving myself in the brush,” said Sentanza, lying when and where it benefited him. “I’d just started back when I heard a commotion. I snuck in and saw Callahan lying dead with a sword stuck through him from behind. There was nothing I could do for him. I had to get far enough away to fire some shots and warn you. So I hopped on a horse and lit out, because mine was too tired after riding back to lookout last evening.”
Shear seemed to dismiss Sentanza. He looked at the gambler and said, “Tinnis Lucas, how are you?”
The gambler shrugged. “I’ve been better. I could use a drink.”
“Somebody get the gambler here a bottle,” Shear said to the gunmen standing around listening.
“Thank you, Jesus!” Tinnis whispered emotionally as a bottle appeared as if out of nowhere and handed up to him by Ted Lasko’s gloved fist. Shear and the men looked on as the gambler took an extra-long swig, then a quick breath, followed by another long swig.
“Damn!” said Ted Lasko, staring up at the bottle he’d handed him, seeing it was reduced to half its content and still not being returned to him. “Give it back, Lucas. There’s more in the cabin.”
The gambler started to hand the bottle back. But having second thoughts, he raised a finger, putting him off, and said, “One second, Ted.”
“Damn it to hell, Tinnis!” Lasko barked.
But the gambler took yet another drink. “Obliged, Ted,” Tinnis said sincerely. “I think you may have saved my life.” He held the almost empty bottle back down to the angry gunman, feeling the warm glow of whiskey start to surge in his chest.
“Are you good now?” Shear asked.
“For now, yes, I believe I am,” Tinnis said, settling into a smooth, furry whiskey lull.
“All right,” said Shear. He gestured his cigar toward Elmer Fisk. “I’ve heard Elmer tell us what you said happened in Minton Hill. Now I want to hear it again, from you.” He grinned and stuck the thick cigar in his mouth. “After all, it’s what I pay you for.”
Shear’s words chaffed Elmer Fisk, who thought of it as taking the story of drunk over his.
The gambler stared straight into Fisk’s fiery eyes for a moment, then coolly turned back to Shear and told him everything that had happened in Minton Hill.
When he’d finished telling about the ranger and the two bounty hunters killing four Black Valley Riders, he stopped and sat staring once more at Elmer Fisk.
After a moment of stoic consideration, Shear let out a breath. “Well, life goes on. We’ll just blow the hell out for these three and go on about our business.” He looked back at the gambler. “Now, what is this Fisk tells me about you riding your horse off of the cliff out front of the valley entrance?”
The gambler stared at Fisk a moment longer, then said quietly, “It sounds about right to me. I was asleep one minute, flying down into a pine tree the next. Had it not been for the bounty hunters and the law dog, I’d still be up the tree.”
“Then you brought them down on us?” Shear asked with a cold sinister look.
“No, I didn’t bring them down on you,” said Tinnis. “They walked in here following hoofprints that those three left clear as day.”
“That’s a damn lie!” said Fisk. “We cleared the trail, swept it off and everything, after the drunk here rode off it.”
Tinnis sat staring, listening.
Finally Shear said, “What brought you up here looking for me in the first place, Lucas?”
Staring again at Fisk, the gambler said through his warm whiskey glow, “Crazy Elmer wouldn’t pay me. He said I’d have to come to you to get my information money. So I did . . . or I tried to, before I fell.”
“What’d you call me, you son of a bitch?�
� Fisk said, stepping forward.
Tinnis sat calmly staring at him.
“Easy there, Elmer,” said Brayton Shear with a dark chuckle. “Everybody calls you Crazy behind your back. Don’t twist a knot in your cinch.” He turned quarterwise and looked at Fisk, his black-handled Dance Brothers pistol in hand. “Hell, even I call you Crazy when you ain’t around.”
Fisk seethed, but simmered and forced himself to calm down, still staring hard at Tinnis, who sat coolly staring back at him.
Shear turned back to the gambler. “So, you came all this way to get your money?” Then he glanced at Fisk and said, “Shame on you, Crazy Elmer,” just to goad the angry gunman.
“That was a big part of it,” said the gambler, letting out a breath, relaxing even more. The pain in his stitched scalp had dulled; his hands had stopped trembling. He’d grown less shaky overall.
“There’s something else, Big Aces,” Sentanza cut in on the Gambler’s behalf. “Tinman here said he wants to join up with us—wants to be a Black Valley Rider himself.”
“Oh, does he, now?” said Shear. He gave the gambler a faint smile as he appeared to give it some thought; the rest of the men stared in hushed silence. “A Black Valley Rider . . . ?” He studied Tinnis for a moment, then said, “Yeah, sure. Why not?”
The gambler stood staring, not sure what to say.
Shear stood up. “But you need to know something, Lucas. Once a Black Valley Rider, always a Black Valley Rider.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way, sir,” Tinnis said with a slight bow.
“Big Aces!” Fisk cut in. “You can’t be serious.”
“Why’s that, Elmer?” said Shear, still looking at Tinnis. “We’re riding out to pull off a big job. I’ve lost more men this week than I have in the past year.”
“What about him proving himself? Like all the rest of us had to?” said Fisk.
“Don’t worry, Elmer,” said Shear. “Every Black Valley Rider has to prove himself. It’s part of the deal.” He gazed at the gambler. “What about it, Tinnis Lucas? Are you ready to prove yourself a Black Valley Rider?”
