Sidewinder (23 page)

Brad shook his head.

“I’m no lawman,” he said.

“What’s your business with Coombs, if I might ask?”

“It’s about some beef missing from my ranch, Larry, but I don’t want that information bandied about.”

“You sayin’ Del Coombs rustled your beef?”

“About two hundred head.”

Larry let out a low whistle and scratched his head.

“Something wrong?” Brad asked.

“I’ve been here since the gold rush,” he said. “Seen ’em come and go. Seen ranchers who used to come to town, come in here to wet their thirst. Heard ’em talk about drivin’ cattle to Denver or sellin’ their beeves in Pueblo. First thing you know, they don’t come here no more and Del’s selling meat. Not on the hoof but already dead and ready to be cut into steaks and chops, turned into filets, T-bones, sirloins, and ground up for the Mexes.”

“And no more ranchers,” Brad said.

“No proof of rustling, neither. No sir, you’re the first man I seen in here who got rustled and lived to tell about it.”

“You’ve been a big help, Larry. I’ll take another of those draft beers.”

“Coombs has him a permanent room at the Clarendon. More like a fancy suite.”

“Thanks.”

Larry stood up.

“If you go up against him, you don’t stand a chance, Mister. Any one of his cronies would rub you out without battin’ an eye.”

“What makes you think I wouldn’t do the same to them?”

“I didn’t think you were a crazy man. I could be wrong, though.”

Larry walked away, taking Brad’s empty glass. He held it under the spigot of a tapped keg and filled it slowly. He took a wooden spoon that was almost flat and wiped away the top of the foam and poured a small amount of beer in the glass.

“Four bits,” he said, setting the glass in front of Brad. “Forgot to charge you for the first one.”

“Two bits for a beer? Price has gone up,” Brad said.

“Like I said, Oro City is a boom town.” He smiled as Brad laid out a pair of quarters. They clattered on the bar-top. Larry scooped them up.

“Case you’re wonderin’,” he said, “none of the Coombs boys are here today. Been gone the better part of a month. But I hear the Clarendon got in a shipment of beef last night. Fresh beef.”

He walked away, and Brad stared after him. What was he getting into? How many men did Delbert Coombs have? At least six, he figured, from reading the tracks. Six against one. Or six against two if Julio showed up.

But he might not have to face them all at once. He had only seen two of them. Which meant two of them had seen him. If he saw those two, he would recognize them. And, they would recognize him.

He did not know what Delbert or his brother, Hiram, looked like. But they were the honchos, evidently.

Should he go to the local sheriff and file a complaint against Coombs? Did he have proof that they rustled his cattle? Not with him, but maybe that stockyard where he had braced Toad and Freddie might have enough evidence of rustled beef to offer a court of law. Did they even have a court of law in Oro City?

Brad did not know.

So many questions, he thought. He knew where Coombs stayed now, but how far could he go without the law on his side? And what if the law was on Delbert’s payroll? There was something very rotten about a town that harbored such a man, a killer and a rustler who had been getting away with his crimes for years.

The batwing doors swung open, and Brad saw the silhouette of a man enter the saloon. He could not see anything but an outline, but the figure looked familiar.

The man stepped inside and turned his head, looking around the room. Brad raised his hand.

Julio saw Brad and began walking toward him, slow at first, then faster and faster the closer he got.

Brad motioned to the empty stool next to him.

“Sit down,” he said, in Spanish.

Julio beamed.

“I am glad to see you, Brad,” he said. “Did you find Felicity?”

“No. What about Pilar?”

“They tricked us, those men. Pilar was not with the ones I tracked. They changed the horses to fool us.”

“They sure did. Will you take a drink?”

Julio looked at the beer in front of Brad.

“Maybe I will drink
una cerveza
,” he said. “
Tengo mucho hambre
.”

“Yeah, I’m hungry, too.”

Brad waited for Larry to turn around, then beckoned to him and pointed to his glass and held up one finger.

“Tell me all you know, Julio,” he said.

“Only if you tell me what you have found out,
mi jefe
.”

“You might have to drink two beers before we eat, Julio.”

“I do not care. I also have hunger for knowledge, knowledge about my Pilar and your Felicity.”

“Well, I found Rose. She is in the stable getting shod. So we have a horse for Carlos. And, we may need him.”

“You know something, then.”

“I know something.”

Larry brought the beer, and Brad paid him two bits.

“It’s good you have a friend here, Mister,” the barkeep said. “You might need a few more.”

Julio looked puzzled.

“What does he say?”

“I’ll tell you everything I know, Julio. Just tell me what you saw, what you learned.”

Julio put the glass to his lips, drank through the foam. His lips were lathered, and he wiped them with his sleeve.

“I saw two men,” he said. “One was riding Tico. I mean he was not riding him, but Tico was there. They were two of the rustlers.”

“Do you know their names?”

“One was called Ridley, I think. I think the other was called Abner. I do not know which one was riding Tico. But Tico is tied up outside this cantina. I did not see the other horse outside.”

“What? Do you mean one of the men is here? Right in here?”

“I do not know. I only saw you,
patrón
.”

“Well, look around, Julio. Take your time. Tell me if you see either of the men you tracked.”

Julio craned his neck. He looked around the room, then along the bar.

He ducked his head as if trying to hide behind his glass of beer.

“He is here, at the other end of the bar. The man standing next to a pretty girl. He is one of those I saw.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I am sure. I do not know if that is the Ridley one. I—I do not remember.”

“It doesn’t make any difference. Thanks.”

“What will you do, Brad?”

Brad could not answer Julio’s question just then. He was studying the man, memorizing his features.

The man had his arm around one of the glitter gals. He seemed to know her. They were both smiling. Laughing. And drinking.

So, he thought, the High Grade is the gang’s watering hole. And one of the chickens had come home to roost. That was a good sign. It reminded him of hunting prong-horn antelope on the plains. He just waited for them to come to the watering hole. He picked out the one he wanted, took aim, and pulled the trigger. He and Felicity ate antelope that night.

“Well,” he said to Julio, his voice pitched low, “we found their watering hole. Ever hunt antelope, Julio?”

Brad saw the puzzlement on Julio’s face. But he had already made up his mind, and there was no time to explain. He beckoned to Larry, who was heading their way, his hands holding five or six glasses by their rims. Larry dropped the empty glasses in a tub of wash water behind the bar and came up to the end where Brad and Julio were sitting.

“Two questions, Larry, if you wouldn’t mind?”

“I can handle two, maybe.”

“The name of that jasper at the other end of the bar with his hand inside that lady’s blouse.”

Larry turned his head and looked.

“That’s Wicks. Abner Wicks. He’s one of Delbert’s men.”

“Where’s the sheriff’s office these days?”

“Middle of State Street.”

“His name?”

“That’s one question over the limit, friend.” There was a sardonic smile on Larry’s face.

“I owe you, Larry.”

“Our new sheriff, still slightly wet behind the ears, is Rodney Dimsdale.”

“Thanks,” Brad said, standing up. He looked at Julio. “Let’s go, Julio. We’re going to get Tico back for Carlos.”

Julio slid from his stool.

“You didn’t finish your beers, gents,” Larry said. “And, say, I didn’t get your name, Mister.”

“I didn’t give it, Larry. But you can call me Sidewinder for now.”

“Sidewinder? That your real name?”

Brad didn’t answer. He and Julio were already walking briskly down to the other end of the bar.

“What we do, Brad?” Julio whispered.

“Just back me up, Julio. We’re going to do a little horse trading.”

“You give me the confusion sometimes, Brad.”

“I confuse myself sometimes, Julio.”

Brad stepped close to the man named Abner Wicks.

“Sir,” he said, “may I have a word with you?”

Wicks turned around, saw the two men standing there, one of them a Mexican. He had the feeling he should know them.

“What’s on your mind, stranger?”

“I wondered if you wanted to sell that bobtailed dun with the cropped mane you have hitched outside.”

“Huh?”

“I’m buying,” Brad said.

“I ain’t sellin’,” Wicks said.

“Well, I’m taking the horse, Wicks,” Brad said.

Abner’s hand shot off the girl’s shoulder and dropped to the butt of his pistol.

“You what?” Abner said, his tone sharp as a razor’s honed edge.

“You heard me, Wicks.”

“How’d you know my name?”

“Why, I picked it out of the pig slop, Wicks.”

“Them’s fightin’ words, Mister.”

“You pull that hogleg, Wicks, and I’ll drop you where you stand. There’s two of us and just one of you.”

Brad kept his voice low so that only Julio, the glitter gal, and Wicks could hear him. But Abner saw Brad’s hand hovering over the butt of his pistol like a hawk about to fold its wings and dive.

“You put it that way . . .” he said.

“Let’s just step outside and take a look at that bobtailed dun, Wicks. Lady, you better light a shuck to other parts.”

The woman scurried away, white-faced, her skirt rustling like wind through a cornfield.

“Step away from the bar and go through those batwings, Wicks. We’ll be right behind you.”

“You got a lot of cheek, Mister,” Wicks said.

But he went out the swinging doors and walked to where Tico stood hipshot.

“Take a look at that brand, Wicks,” Brad said. He pointed to the horse’s right rump. “That’s the Box B from the Baron ranch in Texas. I bought that horse from Anson Baron himself. I’ve got the papers.”

“I don’t know nothin’ about that,” Wicks said.

“Well, let me put it this way, Wicks. That makes you a horse thief. And that’s a hanging offense.”

Wicks blanched.

“Take Tico, Julio, and follow me and Mr. Wicks.”

“Where we goin’?” Wicks asked.

Brad stepped forward and lifted the pistol from Abner’s holster and held it leveled at Abner’s gut.

“We’re going to pay a call on Sheriff Dimsdale,” Brad said. “Now, step out.”

“Bastard,” Wicks muttered, but started marching toward State Street. Julio followed, leading Tico.

The sheriff was in.

He looked up from his desk when Brad ushered Wicks through the door.

The man sitting behind the desk wore a star on his chest. There were three other men in the room: a young deputy, who also wore a badge; a man in a business suit with a hand-painted tie dangling from his collar; and another man, younger, who was dressed like a banker, minus the coat. They all stared intently at Brad and Wicks.

“What do we have here?” Dimsdale said. He was a balding, forty-year-old man with carious teeth and a pock-marked face that looked weathered from more than wind but was likely from a steady diet of corn whiskey. He wore red suspenders and a striped shirt, baggy pants with food stains embedded in the light fabric. He had a small button of a nose that looked like a mashed mushroom.

“You know Abner Wicks here, Sheriff?” Brad said.

“Don’t know him well. Know who he is. That his pistol in your hand?”

“It is.”

“Well, now, I’ll just have that, and your name and some quick explanation,” Dimsdale said.

Brad handed him the Colt, butt first. Dimsdale took it, opened a drawer, and stuck the gun inside.

“My name’s Bradley Storm, and this man stole my horse, that bobtailed dun out there with the Mexican.”

“Got proof?”

“No. Just my word. I also want to charge him with cattle rustling and destruction of property. My property. My cattle.”

“No proof, you say.” Dimsdale looked over at the man in the business suit. He had long sideburns salted with gray hairs, a neatly trimmed mustache, and small goatee. He wore a vest with a watch chain dangling from one pocket. His coat was open and the lining appeared to be made of painted silk. He returned Dimsdale’s look with a nod.