Joseph West - The Man From Nowhere - A Ralph Compton Novel

Pickles groaned deep in his throat. “I’m dying, Eddie. Damn it, man, I can’t quite believe that a little runt like you has done for me.”

“Good riddance,” Oates said, no pity in him.

“I always thought it might come to this, Eddie, me dying like a dog in the middle of nowhere.” He turned his head. “Over there, beside my rifle at the base of the tree, in my coat pocket there’s a letter to my dear wife. I’ve kept it on my person for many years, telling how much I love her and not to grieve for me when I’m gone.”

He raised his head, his fading green eyes on Oates’ stone face. “The address is on the envelope. It’s—it’s in Denver. See that she gets it. . . .”

Then life fled Peter Jasper Pickles and only his empty carcass was left.

Oates looked down at the man for a while, then stepped to the tree. He found the letter, returned to the fire and threw it into the flames where he watched it curl, turn black and burn to ashes.

He had not opened the letter, nor did he look inside the rifle case. To Oates, the case and the weapon that lay inside were things of evil. He tossed the case into the creek where the rifle would rust at nature’s pace.

That done, he kneeled by the fire and poured himself tea. He ate the bacon, deer liver and wild onions Pickles had cooked and found it good.

Chapter 34

“I left him where he lay,” Oates said. “By this time he’s probably poisoned all the coyotes for miles around.”

“Lucky Pickles didn’t see you coming, Eddie,” Rivette said. “He’d have laid for you.”

Oates shrugged. “Well, I gave him an even break. He shot too fast.”

“You never know how a man will stack up until he’s faced with it,” Rivette said. “Seems to me Pickles should have put in more practice with the Colt’s gun.”

Oates turned and smiled at Nantan. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“No thanks to you,” Lorraine snapped. “Tying up the poor thing’s arm with rope!”

“It’s all I had,” Oates said mildly. Nantan now had a proper sling, made out of what looked like an old sheet. “You did a good job, Lorraine,” he said.

“Don’t thank me; thank Stella. She’s the one played doctor.”

“When you’ve been around punchers as long as I have, you get to bind up a heap of broken collarbones,” Stella said. She looked at Oates. “She’ll heal up nicely, but she’ll always have a scar.”

“No more bare shoulders for me come fiesta time.” Nantan smiled.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, just brush your hair over it,” Nellie sniffed. “No one will notice. If it’s men you’re thinking about, they won’t be looking at you that close anyway.”

“You’re such a bitch, Nellie,” Lorraine said.

“It takes one to know one, Lorraine.”

They were sitting in the dining room of the Bon View Hotel, a single lamp burning the last of the precious oil they’d found. On an adjoining table lay a few cans, a small package of coffee, another of salt and a box of iron-hard army biscuit, all the food they’d been able to find in their search of the town.

However Lorraine had unearthed a worn, cotton dress that fit her poorly, but she had at last ditched her ragged nightgown and mackinaw.

Stella rose and returned carrying a large tin box that she set on the table.

“Eddie, can you leave tomorrow for Silver City?” she asked. “We badly need supplies.”

Oates nodded. “Sure, but I don’t like to leave Nantan alone.”

“I won’t be alone,” the girl said, speaking through a yawn because the hour was late. “I’m going with you.”

“But—”

“No but, Eddie,” Nantan said firmly, “I’m going.”

Rivette laughed. “Eddie, never argue with a woman when she’s tired. Never argue with her when she’s rested either.”

Stella said impatiently, “Eddie, that’s something you and Nantan can work out for yourselves. Right now, I want to talk about what we need. And be careful in Silver City. They’ll take you for a rube and try to charge you three prices for everything. That’s why I’ve made you this list and the price you should pay.”

She opened the box and handed Oates a scrap of paper. “Read that,” she said.

Oates scanned the list of items.

Salt pork 11 cents/pound

Bacon 15 cents/pound

Salt beef 9 cents/pound

Fresh beef 5 cents/pound

Flour (extra fine) 5 cents/pound

Hardbread 10 cents/pound

Beans 10 cents/quart

Rice 8 cents/pound

Coffee 12 cents (Rio) or (Java) 15 cents/pound

Sugar 8 cents for Louisiana brown/pound

Vinegar 6 cents/quart

“Looks like you’ve got it covered, Stella,” Oates said. “I won’t let them cheat me.”

“There are a few more things I didn’t write down,” the woman said. “Butter, cheese, eggs, apples, soda crackers—whatever looks good and is reasonably priced. Oh, and bring me a few sacks of tobacco and smoking papers.” She looked at Rivette. “Cigars?”

The gambler nodded. “Cubans, if you can find them. If not, whatever is available.”

Stella opened the box again, coins clinking as she searched through it, and finally produced a gold double eagle. “This is for the supplies and your expenses, Eddie. Use my mare for the packhorse. She’ll stand.”

“We need ammunition,” Rivette said. “A few boxes each of .44-40s for the rifles and .45s for the revolvers.”

“Warren,” Lorraine said, “Eddie’s just got through telling you that Pete Pickles is dead.”

“Yes, he did at that. But Darlene McWilliams is still alive.”

“What does that mean?” Stella asked.

“I don’t know what it means, maybe nothing, maybe a lot,” Rivette said. “I just don’t believe we’ve seen the last of her.”

“She’s about to marry the Circle-T,” Oates said. “Tom Carson has more money than God, and what’s his is now Darlene’s. I don’t reckon she’ll ride all the way out here for five thousand dollars. I figure Carson carries that amount in his billfold when he goes into town on Friday night.”

“We should be on our guard anyhow,” Rivette said. He glanced around the table. Stella and Nellie looked a little frightened. Sam Tatum and Lorraine were merely interested and Oates seemed on edge. He couldn’t get a read on Nantan, who was part of all this, but detached from it at the same time.

“Back in the Louisiana bayous where I was raised, I remember my grandmother and all the other old, black-eyed swamp witches always knowing what was going to happen weeks or months before it did,” Rivette said. “Births, deaths, marriages . . . they knew.

“My mother was the same way. She had the gift. Some call it second sight, and I think maybe she passed it on to me.”

“What do you see?” Lorraine asked eagerly.

Rivette smiled and shook his head. “I don’t see, Lorraine. I feel. And the feeling I have is that Darlene McWilliams shares the same weakness as Pete Pickles. She’s an overly arrogant and ambitious young woman in a hurry, and she’ll make a mistake, overstep her mark.

“After that happens, she’ll want her five thousand in a hurry and she’ll come after us.”

“When?” Stella asked.

“I don’t know. But it might well be sooner rather than later.”

Oates had been silent, lost in thought, and now he said, “ ‘Something wicked this way comes . . .’ ”

Rivette looked at him, surprised. “ Macbeth , right?”

“Yes. The witches of Macbeth .”

Looking around the table, as the wind howled around the eaves of the building and the lamp flame guttered, the gambler said, “I can’t put it any better than Shakespeare. . . . ‘Something wicked this way comes.’ We can expect it soon. And we should be ready.”