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

He laid his cards on the table, stood and moved aside as the bartender took his seat. “I’m sorry, gentlemen,” he said to the other players. “We’ll continue our game later.”

Rivette put on his hat and sheepskin and walked to Oates’ side. Taller and bigger than the other man, he removed the saddlebags from Oates and shouldered the load himself.

“They’ve been in touch?”

Oates’ eyes searched Rivette’s face. Then, a man slowly emerging from a dry drunk, he slurred, “Huh?”

Reading the signs, the gambler took Oates by the arm and gently but firmly led him outside.

The cold hit Oates like a hard slap. He shook his head, trying to clear his foggy brain, and looked at Rivette. “Sorry . . . for a while there I was home again.”

Rivette nodded. “It’s a battle you’ll have to fight every day for the rest of your life, Eddie.”

“Suppose one day I lose?”

“Don’t worry about that now. Take each day as it comes and never fight tomorrow’s battle today.”

Oates nodded. “I’ll try to play it that way.”

“Don’t try, Eddie. Do it.”

Oates was silent for a few moments. Then he handed Rivette the note. He waited until the gambler read it and said, “I need your help, Warren.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He looked into the gray day and at the gunmetal sky. “Well,” he said, “shall we get it done, you and me?”

As daylight faded and the temperature plummeted, the air took on a crystalline quality, as though traced through and through with spiderwebs of frost. The trunks of the aspen on the high ridges shone like burnished silver and the canopies of the juniper were covered with snow and looked like lines of old men in white nightcaps marching off to bed.

Oates huddled into his blanket coat, his breath smoking into the freezing wind.

“Best we slow up some, Warren,” he said. “We’re only a couple of miles from the station and it’s not dark enough to see a fire from the distance.”

“I could smoke a cigar,” Rivette said. He nodded to a stand of pines at the base of a ridge. “We’ll hole up over there for a spell.”

The trees sheltered Oates and Rivette from the worst of the wind and gave the illusion of warmth. Fine snow was drifting down from the branches as Rivette cupped his hands around his cigar and fired the tip.

“Care for one, Eddie?”

Oates shook his head. “They say smoking stunts your growth and I can’t afford to be any more stunted than I already am.”

Rivette grinned. “Height isn’t the measure of the man. It’s what’s inside that counts, and you’ve got sand, Eddie.”

“You think so? Then how come right now I’m scared stiff?”

“So am I, but we’re out here anyway. I guess that means something.”

Slowly the day shaded into night, and the two riders left the trees and headed north again. Coyotes were calling out in the hills and the mountains were lost in darkness.

After ten minutes Oates saw the fire twinkling in the distance like a fallen star. To his surprise, the fire was to the northwest among the Gila foothills, not in the direction of the stage station.

He and Rivette rode directly for the blaze, letting the horses pick their way along the unseen trail. When they were close enough to smell smoke, a huge, shadowy figure emerged from the gloom.

The man got within hailing distance and drew rein. “Identify yourselves!” he yelled.

“Eddie Oates and Warren Rivette,” Oates called out.

The rider rode closer and solidified into the shape of Clem Halleck. In the firelight, the man looked enormous in a bear fur coat, a muffler wrapped around the bottom half of his face.

“Rivette,” he said, “what the hell are you doing here?”

“Oates is my friend, Clem. I came along for the ride.”

“Then don’t try nothing slick with that gun o’ your’n, Rivette. Any fancy moves an’ I’ll cut the squaw’s belly to ribbons.”

“You’re such a fine man, Clem,” Rivette said with a smile. “It’s an honor to know you.”

“Yeah, well, I ain’t forgetting what you already done, Rivette. You played hob helping them Alma whores.”

“It passed the time, Clem.”

Halleck ignored the gambler and his eyes sought Oates in the darkness. “You bring the money?”

“Uh-huh, all of it.”

“Then follow me, an’ be on your best behavior, just like you’re visiting kinfolk.”

Halleck had a bucket of water handy and he immediately extinguished the fire. He, better than any of the others, knew the risk they were taking if the Circle-T posse was still on the prowl.

The big gunman led Oates and Rivette into an arroyo that began narrow enough to permit the passage of only a couple of horses, then widened out into an open space about twenty acres in extent. A small fire burned close to a sheer wall of rock and a gigantic, maverick cottonwood.

Darlene McWilliams and her brother, Charles, stood in front of the fire, and a little ways off Mash Halleck had his left arm around Nantan’s neck, a wicked-looking bowie knife clenched in his right fist.

Clem led Oates and Rivette closer to the fire, then pointed at them. “Light and set you two. An’ that ain’t an invite—it’s an order.”

Oates did as he was told and Rivette followed. Clem slapped his horse away, then walked beside Darlene, carrying his rifle. Despite the cold, Charles McWilliams had removed his coat, and the ivory handles of his Remingtons caught the firelight. The man was grinning, confident, and he looked ready and eager to kill.

At that moment it dawned on Oates that Darlene McWilliams had no intention of letting him and Rivette—and Nantan—leave this place alive.

He’d have to bargain with the whole twenty thousand.

Chapter 40

“You, the drunk,” Darlene said, “did you bring the money?”

Oates nodded. He glanced at Nantan. His wife’s eyes were wide in the shifting scarlet light and she looked scared.

“I’ve got twenty thousand in gold in my saddlebags,” he said, “and it’s all yours, Darlene. All you have to do is let my wife go free.” He hesitated a moment. “Put her on her horse and send her home. Now!”

Charles looked at his sister and the grin on his handsome face grew insolent. “You going to let a tramp like that call you by your name?”

“Shut up, Charles. Go see if he’s telling the truth.”

The man retrieved the saddlebags and returned to Darlene.

“Well?” she asked.

“Double eagles, hundreds of them.”

“It seems that you weren’t lying to me, Oates,” Darlene said.

“Then let my wife go.”

The woman shook her head. “I’m sorry, but that’s impossible. I have enough problems at the moment, and I don’t want to add to them by leaving any of you alive to dog my back trail.”

“We’ll let you be, Darlene,” Oates said. “I swear on a stack of Bibles.”

Darlene made no answer. She turned to Clem. “Load up the money. We’ve got to get out of here fast.”

“What about her?” Halleck said, nodding to Nantan.

“After the rest of us leave, you can have her.”

Halleck smiled. “I’ll be busy for an hour or two. Then I’ll catch up.” He looked at Charles. “The tall one’s name is Warren Rivette, Charlie. He’s the gun.”

“I can take him.” Charles McWilliams grinned.

Grim old Mash Halleck threw Nantan away from him and she landed heavily on the frozen ground. “Leave the little one for me, Charlie,” he said. “He killed my boy.” His eyes measured the ground between him and Oates. “Remember him?”

Nantan was rising slowly from the ground and anger fired Oates. “He was just like you, Halleck, low-life scum.”

Then he moved. It was unexpected and it caught Darlene and her men flat-footed.