Torture Town Read online

  “You’re awake!” she said happily.

  “Well, yes. It’s morning. I normally wake up in the morning,” Matt replied. “But you didn’t answer my question. What are you doing here?”

  “Why, I’m here to take care of you, of course,” Tamara answered. “I came as soon as I heard you were hurt. As I recall, I did this once before, when we both lived in the home, remember? It was right after you had been horsewhipped by Connor.”

  “I remember.” The expression on Matt’s face reflected his confusion. “Wait a minute, you came as soon as you heard I was hurt? How is that possible? I was just wounded last night.”

  “Last night?” Tamara said. She laughed. “Silly goose. Do you actually think you were wounded last night?”

  “Yes, of course. I had just come out of the saloon when a couple of . . .” Matt stopped in midsentence.

  Suddenly a jumbled series of scenes began tumbling through Matt’s mind.

  He recalled the fight.

  He remembered going into the saloon.

  A worried-looking doctor had cleaned his wound and sewed it shut.

  Some men had carried him to the hotel room.

  Sometime during all this, Tamara had shown up and now, as he thought back on it, he could recall seeing her face many times, worried as she sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at him, sometimes washing his face with a damp cloth, other times stroking his cheek. Sometimes she kissed him.

  He looked up at her, and saw that she had been watching him go through the thought process.

  “You’re right,” he said. “How long have I been here?”

  “Ten days.”

  “Ten days?” Matt gasped. “Have I been out all that time?”

  “Not entirely,” Tamara said. “You’ve been in and out of it, and a few times you have even recognized me.”

  “Really? Have we—uh—have we been together?” Matt asked.

  Tamara laughed. “You haven’t exactly been in the mood,” she said. “Why do you ask? Are you in the mood now?”

  “I might be,” Matt said.

  “Oh my,” Tamara said. “Then I would say you are just about fully recovered.”

  Tamara walked over to her door, opened it, looked outside, then closed and locked it. When she returned to the bed, she began removing her dress. She lay it neatly on a chair, then stepped out of her petticoat. Next came the camisole, exposing her rather small but well-formed breasts.

  “You know, when I first started in this business, the way I was able to get through it was to imagine that the man I was with was you,” she said.

  “How did that help?” Matt asked. “You remembered me as a twelve-year-old boy.”

  “Maybe it was my fantasy of what you would become,” Tamara said. “And I was right, because look at you now.”

  Smiling, Tamara started to step out of her bloomers.

  Suddenly there was the tinkling sound of broken glass as something whizzed through the window, followed by a solid “thock,” like the sound of a hammer hitting a nail.

  Tamara pitched forward, even as a mist of blood was spraying out from the back of her head.

  “No!” Matt shouted in a loud, grief-stricken voice.*

  “Where did you go?” Belle asked.

  “What?”

  “Why did you grow so quiet?”

  “I’m sorry,” Matt said. “I was just thinking about something. So, how about it? Will you talk to me?”

  Belle held up the five-dollar bill and smiled. “Well, honey, you’ve bought my time, so if all you want to do is talk, why you just go right ahead. What do you want to talk about?”

  “It’s not what I want to talk about, it’s who I want to talk about. I want to talk about Rufus Draco.”

  The expression on Belle’s face twisted into one of confusion.

  “Honey, that ain’t a name I’ve ever heard before. Does that mean I don’t get to keep the money?”

  “No, you can keep the money. Maybe he isn’t using that name.”

  “What does he look like?”

  *Matt Jensen: The Last Mountain Man

  “He’s a big man, with a bald head that sits so low on his shoulders that he practically has no neck, a broken nose that’s mashed flat, and a bushy red beard.”

  This time Matt violated his rule of leaving one of the elements out of the description because he wanted to provide the maximum opportunity for Belle to remember.

  “Oh!” Belle said. “Well, except for the bushy red beard, there was a man that looked like that came through here last week. Only his name wasn’t Rufus Draco, though.”

  “What was his name?”

  Belle squinted her eyes as if trying to remember. Then, she realized why she couldn’t remember. “He didn’t give his name,” she said.

  Chapter Eleven

  Thirty Four Corners

  Two days after Bodine held his strategy meeting with Strawn and the other four men, two of the cowboys who worked for the BR Ranch, Seth Miller and Lou Turner, rode into town. Leaving their horses tied up at the edge of town, the two men started up the boardwalk, making certain to stay on their side of the wide, sunbaked street as they hurried from the shade of one adobe building to the next, taking every opportunity to get out of the sun.

  A sign posted outside Black Bull Saloon promised cold beer, and they thought nothing could be better than that, so they pushed their way through the batwing doors and went inside. A bartender with pomaded black hair and a waxed handlebar mustache stood behind the bar industriously polishing glasses. He looked up as the two cowboys approached the bar. There were two men standing together at the bar, but as Seth and Lou approached, the two men at the bar separated, one moving to either side, opening up a space for Seth and Lou in between them.

  “Hello, Seth, Lou,” the bartender said. “How are you two boys getting along?”

  “We got us a thirst that’s somethin’ awful,” Seth said. “How cold is your beer today, Hodge?”

  “Oh, I’d say it’s maybe a little colder ’n horse piss,” he said.

  Seth laughed. “That’s cold enough.” Seth glanced into the mirror to check out the two men who had moved out of the way. He didn’t recognize either of them, and he leaned over the bar and spoke very quietly.

  “Who are them two?”

  “I don’t know,” Hodge replied just as quietly. “They come in a few minutes ago, and that was the first time I ever saw them.”

  Seth and Lou put down a nickel apiece, and the bartender drew two mugs, then set them before the two cowboys.

  At that moment, the two men who had separated to give Seth and Lou room to approach the bar now moved back so that they flanked the two BR riders.

  “You boys are gettin’ a little close there, ain’t you?” Seth said, clearly irritated by the invasion of his space.

  “We’ll take those,” one of the two men said and, in a coordinated move, he and the other man reached down to pick up the beers that had just been set in front of Seth and Lou.

  “Here! What the hell do you think you’re doin’?” Seth demanded, angrily.

  “What’s it look like we’re doin’? We’re drinkin’ beer.”

  “We paid for that beer, mister,” Seth said.

  “Let’s just say it’s a peace offering,” the man said.

  “A peace offering?”

  “Yeah. We just came into town. We’ve hired on to work for Mr. Poindexter and the Tumbling P.”

  “You just hired on to the Tumbling P? Well, you bein’ new ’n all, maybe you don’t know. But this side of Central Street is all for the men who work for the BR,” Seth explained. “Tumbling P cowboys are supposed stay on the north side of the street. You don’t come over on this side, and we don’t go over on the other side. That way, we stay out of each other’s way, and there don’t no one get into trouble. I figure, since you two is new, you more ’n like ain’t aware of that.”

  “What do you mean, we’re supposed to stay on the north side of the street?”


  “It shouldn’t be that hard for you to understand,” Lou said. “Like my pard just told you, the north side of the street is for the Tumblin’ P. The south side of the street, this side, is for the BR riders. That means you’re on the wrong side.”

  “Yeah? Is there a law that says we can’t be on this side of the street?”

  “Well, no, there ain’t no law against it,” Seth said. “But like I said, we learned a long time ago that if we both stay on our side of the street, there’s not as much trouble.”

  “Trouble don’t bother me none at all,” the belligerent cowboy said. He smiled at his friend. “Does trouble bother you, Tully?”

  “No, Poke,” Tully replied. “Trouble don’t bother me none at all, neither.”

  “Well, there you have it, cowboy,” Poke said. “Me ’n’ my friend, Tully, here will go anywhere in town we want to.”

  “You aren’t going to like it on this side. As soon as ever’one finds out that you are riders for the Tumblin’ P, they’re goin’ to make it pretty uncomfortable for you,” Seth insisted.

  “Is that a fact?” Poke asked. “Why don’t we just see how uncomfortable we can make it?” Poke pulled his gun.

  “Wait a minute, what are you doing?” Seth asked, his voice betraying his fear.

  “What’s it look like I’m doin’? I’m holdin’ a gun on you, that’s what I’m doin’. Now, you want to explain to me again that rule about I can’t come on this side of the street?”

  “Put that gun away, mister, or I’ll spill your guts all over the floor,” Hodge said coldly. The bartender had pulled a double-barrel twelve gauge from under the bar and he had his finger on the trigger, with the shotgun pointed toward Poke.

  Poke put the pistol away.

  “I expect you two men had better get on back across the street where you belong,” Hodge said.

  “Oh, we’re goin’ over on the other side of the street,” Poke said. “But you’ll be gettin’ a message from us.”

  “What kind of message?” Seth asked.

  “You’ll see.”

  Poke and Tully finished the beers, then walked out. Seth put his hand on his gun and took a step toward the door.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I was you, Seth,” the bartender said. “I’ve seen their kind before. Those two aren’t regular cowboys. It’s clear as the nose on your face that they’re out to make trouble.”

  “They drank our beer,” Seth said, angrily.

  “Have another one, on the house,” the bartender said, setting two more beers in front of them. “Let it go.”

  Seth smiled. “Well, if you’re goin’ to put it that way, maybe I will let it go. Thank you, Hodge. That’s real kind of you.”

  “I don’t want any trouble in my saloon.”

  “Well, you won’t be gettin’ any trouble from us. We’re just goin’ to have us a beer, and maybe get us somethin’ to eat, then shop around a bit. I aim to get me a silver hatband. Women like a man with a silver hat band.”

  “Do they now?” Hodge asked with a smile. “You know that for a fact do you?”

  “Oh, yeah, I know it.”

  “Well that’s just where you’re wrong,” Lou said, knowledgably. “I happen to know for a fact that the ladies like a turquoise hat band, with a red feather stickin’ out of it.”

  “What about that, Lucy?” Hodge called. “Which do women like the best? A silver hat band, or a turquoise hat band?”

  “With a red feather stickin’ out of it,” Lou added. “Don’t forget the red feather.”

  “Ha! Like a red feather is going to do you any good,” Seth said. “Maybe if you replace the red feather with a ten dollar bill you might get some lady to . . .”

  That was as far Seth got. There was the sound of breaking glass as a bullet came through the window and hit Seth in the back of the head. He went down, dead before he hit the floor.

  “Seth!” Lou shouted in distress. Lou looked around the saloon. “Where the hell did that bullet come from?”

  “From outside,” one of the other saloon customers said. “It come through the window.”

  With his pistol drawn, Lou ran to the batwing doors of the saloon and looked over them, out into the street.

  “Do you see anyone out there, Lou?” the bartender asked. Once more he was holding his double-barrel shotgun.

  “No,” Lou answered. “I don’t see nothin’ a’tall.”

  “Where the hell did that shot come from?”

  Directly across the street from the Black Bull Saloon, Poke and Tully were on the roof of the Hog Waller Saloon, crouched down behind the false front. Poke was holding a rifle in his hand, and he moved the lever down then back up, jerking a spent shell casing from the chamber and replacing it with a live load.

  “Did you get ’im?” Tully asked.

  “Yeah, I got the son of a bitch,” Poke replied. “Come on, let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “Wait, the other’n is standin’ at the door,” Tully said. “Maybe we should take him out too.”

  “No need. One’s enough to get things started.”

  Rex Ross was down the street from the Black Bull Saloon, in Sal’s Saddle Shop, when Lou came running in.

  “Rex! Seth’s been shot!”

  “What? Where? How? What happened?”

  “We was in the Black Bull, just standin’ at the bar drinkin’ and talkin’, when a bullet come crashin’ through the window and kilt him.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “He’s still lyin’ out on the floor back at the saloon,” Lou said. “Hodge said maybe I’d better come get you.”

  “Sal, I’ll be back to talk about that saddle,” Rex promised. “I need to look into this.”

  “Do whatever you have to do, Rex,” Sal said.

  “Damn, you mean a bullet just happened to come through the window and hit Seth?” Rex asked as he and Lou hurried down the boardwalk toward the Black Bull. The shooting was already drawing a crowd; ahead of them, many other citizens of the town were hurrying to the saloon.

  “No, sir, I don’t think it just happened,” Rex said. “This wasn’t no accident. There ain’t no doubt about it in my mind.”

  “Are you saying that someone intended to shoot Seth, and he did it from outside?”

  “Yes, sir, that’s exactly what I’m sayin’,” Lou said.

  Lou told Rex about the altercation he and Seth had had with the two men who’d said they were working for the Tumbling P.

  By now, they had reached the saloon. When Rex and Lou went inside, those who had already arrived, recognizing Rex, moved out of the way to allow him access to the body. Hodge was standing nearby.

  “Where’s the undertaker?”

  “I’ve sent for Tom Nunnlee,” Hodge said.

  “Thanks, Hodge,” Rex said. “What about the marshal?”

  “I sent for him too. He’s—there he is now.”

  Marshal Jeb Hunter was in his early sixties, a heavyset man with very full white mustache that completely covered his mouth.

  “What have we here?”

  “Tell him what you told me,” Rex said.

  Lou repeated his story.

  “And so, what I think happened,” Lou said in conclusion, “is after the little fracas we was havin’ with those two men, well, they went outside and one of them shot Seth through the window.”

  “How am I supposed to arrest anyone?” Marshal Hunter asked, later that same day after two hours of investigating. “Nobody saw the shooter, which they would have done if he had been standin’ out in the street. Besides which, Miller was in the saloon standing at the bar, and the shot came from somewhere outside. It isn’t like someone was aiming at him. Hell, that shot coulda come from a mile away, someone maybe shootin’ in this direction and didn’t have no idea that the bullet would wind up killin’ someone. I think it was just an accident.”

  “An accident?” Rex Ross said, angrily. “How can you call it an accident? It had to be intentional.”

/>   “Who would intentionally shoot into a saloon?”

  “That’s an easy enough question to answer,” Rex said. “Which side of the street is the Black Bull on? It’s on the south side, that’s which side. And the bullet come from the north, which means it was shot by someone who is from the Tumbling P.”

  “Morgan Poindexter has more than twenty men workin’ for him. You expect me to arrest all of ’em?”

  “You aren’t going to arrest anyone, are you?” Rex challenged.

  “How can I arrest someone if I don’t know who to arrest? For crying out loud, be reasonable, Rex.”

  “Reasonable,” Rex replied. “Yes, I’ll be reasonable. You just let Poindexter know that we don’t intend to put up with this.”

  “You don’t intend to put up with this? What do you mean by that?”

  “I just mean we aren’t going to put up with it,” Rex said, without being more specific.

  “Don’t go starting any trouble now, Rex,” Marshal Hunter warned.

  “The trouble has already begun, and we didn’t start it,” Rex replied. “Besides, if it happens out of town, it won’t be any of your concern anyway. Your authority doesn’t go beyond the city limits. Not that happening in town makes any difference, seeing as how you’re just letting this go.”

  Hunter sighed. “You got no call to be talkin’ to me like that, Rex. Me ’n’ your pa has been friends ever since he came here.”

  “You’ve also been friends with Morgan Poindexter ever since he came here.”

  “That’s right, I’m friends with both of them,” Hunter said. “That’s how come I’m the marshal of this town. The town decided that they needed someone who ain’t goin’ to be takin’ up sides.”

  Rex was silent for moment; then he put his hand on Marshal Hunter’s shoulder.

  “I know it, Marshal. I’m sorry I was ridin’ you like that. It’s just that I know damn well someone from the Tumbling P did this, and I know they did it on purpose. You’re right, though, without any witnesses, there’s nothing we can do about it. But it isn’t only Lou who said those two men were bedeviling Seth and him just before the shooting. Hodge says it too, and so does everyone else who was in the saloon at the time. And everyone heard them say that they were riding for the Tumbling P.”