Ralph Compton Sixguns and Double Eagles (26 page)

Landry eventually left the avenue, riding toward a squat, flat-roofed building a hundred yards distant. Wes and El Lobo continued on, taking only casual looks at the structure.

“There be no door,” said El Lobo as Landry rode around behind the building.

“It's in back,” Wes said, “but there are windows in the front, and I'd bet my saddle there are men behind those bars with Winchesters. We'll ride on until we reach a street or road leadin' back from the bay. Maybe we can get a look at the back of the place.”

Suddenly El Lobo reined up and dismounted. He then raised the right front foot of his horse, as though looking for a stone. He then mounted his horse and rode on, and when he finally spoke, he didn't look at Wes.

“We be followed,” he said.

“Then we're on to something,” said Wes. “We'll forget about ridin' back for another look, and lose the
hombre
trailin' us. He must have been staked out in one of those cafés or saloons.”

They rode on at a slightly faster gait. Parkin, trailing them, kicked his horse into a lope as he found himself falling behind.

“There's a cross street,” Wes said. “Maybe we can lose him.”

Being near the bay, there were many warehouses and storage facilities, and scattered among them were cafés, saloons, and a wagon yard. Next to it was a livery. Wes and El Lobo rode in and dismounted.

“We just rode in,” Wes told the hostler, “and our horses are needin' grain. You got a couple of stalls where we can rub ‘em down while they eat?”

“Sure,” said the hostler. “It'll be two dollars for the grain.”

The stalls near the far end of the barn proved ideal. Wes and El Lobo took their time rubbing down the horses, for it provided them a legitimate reason for remaining in the barn. Thanks to the warm climate, there were head-high, foot-square openings in the stalls for ventilation, and through one of these, Wes and El Lobo could see the entrance to the wagon yard. They watched as a single rider approached. He paused only a moment near the wagon yard and then rode on. Half an hour later, he rode back the way he had come, toward the avenue that led alongside the bay.

“We're rid of him,” said Wes, “but now they'll know we're here.”

“Sí,”
El Lobo said. “They know we follow Landry.”

“We won't be following Landry anymore,” said Wes. “They'll give him hell for allowing himself to be followed. At the very least, he'll be told not to return to that room of his.”

 

 

Puzzled at the disappearance of Wes and El Lobo, Parkin rode back to the warehouse in which Otis Belton was headquartered.

“What are you doing here?” Belton demanded. “You're supposed to be on watch.”

“I have been on watch,” said Parkin testily. “Two riders was followin' Landry, and I followed them, until I lost them.”

“Lost
them?”
Belton roared.

“Yeah,” said Parkin. “They rode by here, took the cross street a mile south, and from there I don't know where they went. They disappeared, horses and all. Landry still here?”

“No,” Belton said, “but I want him here just as quickly as he can be found. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link. Find him.”

Parkin and Landry, partners in crime, had come to California together. Now Parkin felt like a Judas. While he had followed Belton's orders, he wasn't even sure the two riders he had followed were actually trailing Landry. He was sure, however, that Landry was out of it, one way or the other. He found Landry in his favorite saloon, where Wes and El Lobo had first become suspicious of him.

“You got to ride, and keep ridin‘,” Parkin said. “You were followed, and Belton sent me to look for you.”

“Who the hell says I was followed?” said Landry.

“I do,” Parkin s id. “I was on watch, and two riders followed you.”

“So you turned me in to Belton,” said Landry. “Thanks.”

“I was followin' orders,” Parkin said. “Now I'm warning you, instead of takin' you in, which could get me shot dead. All I can do is tell Belton I couldn't find you. Now will you get as far from here, as quick as you can, or do you want to face Belton?”

“I'll go,” said Landry angrily, “but I ain't forgettin' you sold me out.”

 

Wes and El Lobo left the livery, careful not to ride back along the bay. Instead, they rode north until they were well beyond the area where they suspected they had first been seen. From there they rode back to their cabin.

“We may not be able to stay here much longer,” Wes said. “Now that they know or suspect we're here, we'll have to watch our every move. Before we get in any deeper, I reckon we'd better do something with the gold we brought with us.”

“Sí
,
”
said El Lobo. “Send to Tamara and Renita, in El Paso.”

“I wish we could,” Wes said, “but Silver warned us about contacting them. I reckon all we can do is put it in a bank and try to claim it later on.”

They each kept a thousand dollars for their own needs and deposited the rest in The Bank of San Francisco.

“What we do now?” El Lobo asked.

“Tonight,” said Wes, “we'll have another look at that building beside the bay. Now that Landry's of no more use to us, that's the only lead we have.”

 

Wes and El Lobo waited until well past midnight before leaving afoot, and this time, Empty went with them. They avoided the avenue that led alongside the bay, keeping instead to the industrial area well beyond. Eventually they came in behind the warehouse to which they had followed Landry. There were two double doors through which a wagon could be driven, and a single door. There were no windows.

“Just our luck,” said Wes. “All the windows are on the sides and front, where they can easily be seen.”

“Si,”
El Lobo said, “and they all have bars. No use door, no use window.”

“That don't leave much,” said Wes, “except the roof. Looks like a skylight up there.”

“What that be?”

“Generally a boxlike affair, with a glass partition that opens up, lettin' in light and air,” Wes said. “Now all we got to figure out is how to reach the roof.”

But that was the least of their problems. While there were no windows at the rear of the building, there were numerous openings—invisible in the darkness—just large enough for peepholes and to accommodate the muzzle of a Winchester. The only warning Wes and El Lobo had was an ominous growl from Empty as they drew near the building. Just as they went belly-down on the ground, the back wall of the place seemed to blossom with gunfire. The nearest cover—back the way they had come—was a drainage ditch lined with bushes and high weeds. Frantically they scrambled away. They could not return the fire, for they had no targets. The last few yards shy of cover, they leaped to their feet and ran, only to fall victim to the flying lead. Unsure of their targets, the gunmen were firing low. Wes felt his left leg go numb and it gave out beneath him as he tumbled into the muddy water of the drainage ditch. A splash in the darkness was proof enough that El Lobo had joined him.

“I'm hit,
amigo,”
Wes said. “How about you?”

“Si,”
said El Lobo. “Two time, in leg.”

“This ditch leads toward the bay,” Wes said. “We'll follow it as far as we can. There's a chance they'll come looking for us.”

Following orders from Otis Belton, Abel Wilks had chosen six men to man the rifles behind the wall.

“Out the doors and after them,” Wilks shouted.

“Hell,” one of the gunmen objected, “it's pitch dark out there.”

“Tell that to Belton,” Wilks snarled. “Now get out there an earn your pay.”

As Wes and El Lobo struggled along the drainage ditch, Wes looked back. The pair of doors had swung open, and shadowy figures emerged from the pale light within.

“Hold it,” said Wes quietly. “They're coming, and they'll hear us.”

Lest the splashing of the water give them away, they didn't move. Keeping their heads down, they hardly dared to breathe, as they heard footsteps and the sound of voices.

“Ain't no way we'll ever find ‘em in the dark,” a voice grumbled. “Unless they was hit, they're long gone.”

“Not much chance they was hit,” said another voice. “Just as we opened fire they hit the dirt. A man bellied down in the dark ain't no target.”

They walked along the ditch toward the bay, and not until the sound of their footsteps faded did Wes speak.

“Let's go,” Wes said. “We must get out of this ditch and find better cover before first light. If they were suspicious enough to set up an ambush, they won't give up easy.”

The attackers followed the ditch until it emptied into the bay. When they finally gave up and returned empty-handed, Wilks was waiting for them.

“Damn it,” said Wilks, “Belton ain't gonna like this. They was out in the open, and with six of you shootin‘, they got off without a scratch.”

“You don't know that,” one of the men said. “Just how good are you, shootin' at some
hombre
layin' belly-down in the dark?”

“Belton don't like excuses, and neither do I,” Wilks replied. “Soon as it's light enough to see, I want every one of you out there looking for sign. We didn't hear no horses, so that means they're afoot. Look for tracks or maybe blood. Leave your rifles behind, and don't all of you wander around in a bunch. We don't want to attract too much attention.”

One of the men laughed. “After all the shootin' we done, it's a mite late to be thinkin' about that.”

“Pike,” said Wilks, “it don't pay to think too long and too hard. Do what you're told.”

That silenced them, and they settled down to wait for first light.

 

Empty crept along the bank as Wes and El Lobo made their way painfully through the ditch. The numbness having worn off, Wes could feel the pain in his left thigh. While his own wound was severe enough, El Lobo had been hit twice. Even if they escaped, there was little hope of either of them receiving medical attention in time to avoid infection. But they struggled on, knowing the search for them had not ended.

 

“Sheriff Rigger wants to talk to you,” Abel Wilks said.

“Send him in,” said Otis Belton, striving to contain his temper.

Sheriff Rigger came in. Ignoring Belton's invitation to be seated, he remained standing. He was a tall man in his fifties, who had emigrated to California from Texas. Little about him had changed, for he still wore Texas boots, range clothes, and a Stetson hat. Tied low on his right hip was a Colt revolver. He wasted no time in getting down to the purpose of his visit.

“Mr. Belton, there have been reports of shooting early this morning. Sounded like a war in progress, I am told. I suppose you have an explanation.”

“There was an attempted robbery,” said Belton. “Is that explanation enough?”

“Not really,” Sheriff Rigger said. “Your windows are barred and your doors—the two that exist—appear sturdy enough to withstand anything less than dynamite. I question the need to have more than one man watching the place after hours.”

“We get little enough help from the law,” said Belton, “and I consider it my business as to the number of men who are on watch. Anything else on your mind?”

“Only this,” Sheriff Rigger replied. “If there are any more reports of wild shooting in the middle of the night, I'll be back with a search warrant. Since your place is so almighty attractive to thieves, I may decide to place a sheriff's deputy inside at night.”

He departed without waiting for a response. Angrily, Belton chewed through his cigar and spat the butt on the floor. Abel Wilks came in, closing the door behind him.

“I suppose you heard?” said Belton.

“Well ... yeah ... I was outside the door,” Wilks said with some embarrassment.

“Then you know we can't afford another standoff like last night,” said Belton. “Do you have any suggestions?”

“Maybe,” Wilks said. “You raisin' hell with the boys over their failure last night don't change the fact that it was dark, and the same thing could happen all over again. That is, unless we try somethin' else.”

“Such as what?” said Belton.

“First,” Wilks replied, “we got to count on them
hombres
bein' alive, and second, we got to expect ‘em to visit us again.”

“I could have figured that out by myself,” said Belton. “Where do we go from there?”

“They're wantin' in,” Wilks said, “so we'll let ‘em in.”

“What?”

“Let ‘em in and gun 'em down,” said Wilks. “Does it matter if they come in, as long as they leave here feet first?”

“Maybe that's the answer,” Belton replied with some satisfaction. “It would eliminate a need for massive gunfire as they approach, and once inside they'll be trapped.”

“That's the idea,” said Wilks. “These walls is thick enough that nobody's likely to hear a few shots.”

“Wilks,” Belton said, “that's sound thinking. I won't forget.”

 

The first rosy fingers of dawn were touching the eastern sky as Wes and El Lobo approached the bay. They paused, for there was some activity on a nearby pier as one of the ships at anchor was being unloaded.

“We can't climb out of this ditch without being seen,” Wes whispered. “We'll have to slip into the water of the bay. Maybe we can take cover under that pier until that ship's cargo has been unloaded.”