Justice of the Mountain Man Read online

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I’ve already been offered twenty dollars for the information from another fellow. If you don’t want to pay, that’s fine.”

  She started to get up from her chair. “I’ll just go to this other gentleman and sell him what I know.”

  Gomez was off the bed and across the room in a flash. He grabbed Dolly by the throat, his eyes wild with anger. “Don’t you go threatenin’ me, you little whore!” he screamed. “Now, you gonna tell me or do I have to hurt you?”

  Without taking her eyes off Gomez’s face, Dolly reached under her skirt and brought out the derringer. She thumbed back the double hammers with a loud metallic click, and stuck the twin barrels under the point of Gomez’s chin.

  “Just how do you plan to hurt me, sir, with what little brains you have scattered all over the ceiling?” she said in a calm, low voice.

  Gomez’s eyes rolled downward and he released Dolly’s throat, holding his hands high above his head. “Be careful with that . . .miss,” he stammered. “It’s liable to go off.”

  She smiled into his eyes. “If it does, you’ll never hear it, Pancho,” she said derisively.

  She pushed him back and walked over to his bed, where he’d laid his Colt. She picked it up and let the hammers down on the derringer. “The Colt makes a much nicer hole than that little popgun, don’t you think?” she asked.

  Gomez didn’t answer. He couldn’t take his eyes off the barrel of the Colt, which was pointing at his groin.

  “Perhaps I’m talking to the wrong man,” Dolly said. “Why don’t we wake your friends up and see if they might be more reasonable about paying me for information that is vital to your sur vival?”

  She put the gun under her overcoat and followed Gomez as he went to the adjoining rooms and managed to get his friends awake. They all gathered in Curly Bob Gatling’s room. The three men sat next to each other on the bed, while Dolly sat across the room in a chair, the big Colt resting on her lap.

  “Now, gentlemen, what am I bid for what I know?”

  The three looked at each other. Finally, Curly Bob said, “We can give you twenty dollars.”

  She smiled and shook her head. “I told the Mex here I’ve already been offered twenty dollars and I wouldn’t have had to go to all this trouble. No, gentlemen, you’re going to have to sweeten the pot a little to ante up in this game.”

  The men put their heads together, whispering quietly among themselves for a moment, then looked back at Dolly. “We might be able to get forty dollars together, but that’s all we got. We got some beeves for sale, but we ain’t got the money for ’em just yet.”

  Dolly pursed her lips, thinking. Forty dollars was all right, especially if it was all they had. After all, she reasoned to herself, there was nothing to keep her from selling the same information to the man who called himself Smoke after she’d made her deal here.

  “All right,” she said, “get it.”

  The men fumbled in their pockets, finally having to go to some saddlebags lying on the dresser to get the money together. Curly Bob took the handful of crumpled bills and reached across the room to hand it to Dolly. She took the bills without taking her hand off the Colt.

  “Now, just what is so all-fired important that we’d be willin’ to pay forty dollars to hear?” Rawhide Jack Cummings asked, the first time he’d spoken since Dolly entered the room.

  “Two things,” Dolly said. “Word on the street is that Marshal Heck Thomas is going around to all the local ranchers checking up to see if anyone sold you those beeves you’re wanting to sell. So, if you plan to get rid of them and get out of town, you’d better hurry.”

  “What makes you think our cattle are stolen?” Gomez asked, trying to assume an innocent expression.

  “Oh, please,” Dolly said, laughing. “I’ve been entertaining cowboys for years now, and if you three ever earned a dime herding or selling beeves, I’ll eat this here Colt.”

  Curly Bob chuckled. He was beginning to like this woman. She knew how to read men. “What else do you have for us?” he asked, smiling at her.

  “There’s this tall, good-looking gent, goes by the name Smoke Jensen, asking around town about you boys.” She raised her eyebrows. “Seems he wants to meet with you in the worst way.”

  “Jensen?” Gomez asked. “I thought the marshal arrested him an’ hauled his ass off to Fort Smith.”

  “Must have been a quick trip,” Dolly observed.

  “What’s he want with us?” Rawhide Jack asked, puzzled.

  “Says he wants to talk with you boys about finding out who killed your friend, the Durango Kid.”

  “That don’t make no sense,” Curly Bob said. “I thought Jensen killed him.”

  Gomez, who’d begun to sweat at the mention of Smoke Jensen, stood up. “That all you got to say?” he asked, his voice rough.

  “Yes, for now,” Dolly replied, also standing up and moving toward the door. “However, if I hear anything else, I’ll be sure to give you gentlemen a chance to buy it. That is, if you live long enough to sell those beeves you’ve got stashed at the edge of town.”

  Gomez took a step toward her, but Dolly eared back the hammer on the Colt. “Now, Pancho, don’t do anything stupid, all right? I’d hate to wake everyone in the hotel up by blowing your guts all over the wall.”

  Gomez stopped and backed up, sweat pouring from his forehead.

  Dolly cocked her head. “I can see that the idea that Smoke Jensen wants to talk to you about your friend’s death has upset you.”

  She glanced at Curly Bob and Rawhide Jack. “Perhaps you gentlemen better have a talk with your friend here before Smoke finds you. It appears to me he might know more than you do about who shot the Kid.”

  Dolly opened the door and stepped out into the hall. “I’ll just leave your pistol in the next room on my way out. But, gentlemen, don’t try and come after me for a little while, because I may just stand out here in the hall to see if anyone tries to open this door. Good morning, gents, I’ll see you later.”

  * * *

  After she eased the door shut, Curly Bob stepped around to stand in front of Gomez.

  “Just what the hell did she mean about you knowin’ somethin’ ’bout the Kid’s murder?”

  When Gomez’s eyes shifted back and forth and he refused to meet Curly Bob’s gaze, Gatling knew Dolly had been right.

  “Out with it, Three-Fingers. What did she mean?”

  Gomez whirled around. “I don’t know what she’s talkin’ about. She’s just some crazy whore!”

  Curly Bob stepped over to the bedpost where his holster was hanging. He pulled out his pistol and pointed it at Three-Fingers Gomez.

  “We been ridin’ together a long time, Three-Fingers. It’d be a shame for me to have to drill you ’cause you tryin’ to feed me some bullshit.”

  Gomez wilted, sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. “I just couldn’t stand it no more,” he moaned. “The Kid always ridin’ me ’bout me being Mexican, tellin’ me I wasn’t gonna get my fair share of the money from the beeves, me havin’ to stay over on the west side of town an’ all.”

  Rawhide Jack stood up and began to pace the room. “So, you tellin’ us you shot the Kid in the back?”

  Gomez looked up, his face red with shame. “I don’t know what came over me, boys. When the Kid went out in that alley to brace Jensen, I snuck out the back door to see if he’d get shot. ’Fore I knew it, my six-gun was in my hand an’ I shot him in the back. All that anger just kind’a boiled outta me an’ I shot him deader ’n shit.”

  “Goddamn it, Three-Fingers, we was partners,” Rawhide Jack said angrily.

  “You was partners,” Gomez answered. “Remember, the Kid said I wasn’t gonna get a fair shake when we divvied up the money.”

  Curly Bob held up his hands. “All right, it’s over and done with now, an’ I gotta agree with Gomez. The Kid did ride him awful hard.”

  “Yeah, but now we not only got this Marshal Thomas o
n our back trail, we got Jensen to worry about,” Rawhide Jack said.

  Curly Bob nodded. “That’s true, but I think I see a way outta our troubles.” He glanced at Gomez. “Three-Fingers, didn’t you say you met a vaquero up from Mexico over at the cantina wanted to buy our beeves the other night?”

  Gomez looked up, hope in his eyes. “Yeah, only he wasn’t offerin’ as much as the Kid wanted.”

  “Well, thanks to you, the Kid ain’t around no more to object, is he?”

  “No,” Gomez admitted, “an’ bein’ as how we’re only splittin’ the money three ways ’stead of four, it’ll be almost the same amount to us anyway.”

  “That’s about the first smart thing you’ve said since I met you,” Curly Bob said. “Now, my idea is to sell those beeves to the Mex as fast as we can to get some ready cash so we can hightail it outta Fort Worth.”

  “That might get the marshal off our backs, but what about this Jensen feller?” Rawhide Jack asked.

  “We might just have to use some of Three-Fingers’ share to buy us some insurance,” Curly Bob said, a grim smile on his face as he stared down at Gomez.

  “While we’re over at the cantina makin’ our deal with the Mex, we’ll see if we can’t find some hard cases who might want to earn some spendin’ money by takin’ Jensen out.”

  “What do you mean, out of my share?” Gomez asked.

  Curly Bob pointed the gun at Gomez. “It was you who caused him to be on our backs; it’s only fair you pay to get him off them.”

  Gomez nodded, knowing he didn’t have a hell of a lot of choice in the matter.

  22

  Three-Fingers Gomez led Curly Bob Gatling and Rawhide Jack Cummings to the cantina where he’d first talked to the vaquero from Mexico who wanted to buy their beeves. The cantinas stayed open all night, not closing early like the more upper-class establishments in the wealthier part of town.

  As they entered the cantina, the men had to strain to see through the thick clouds of cigar and cigarette smoke that hung in the air like a morning fog. The smell of stale beer and whiskey and vomit was strong enough to make their eyes water, and the noise of drunken Mexicans and blacks laughing and talking in loud voices made their ears ring.

  “You see your man?” Curly Bob asked, having to put his lips close to Gomez’s ear to be heard over the din.

  Gomez looked around the room, finally seeing the buyer in a far corner sitting at a table with two Mexican whores and two other cowboys.

  He pointed, then led the way across the room toward the man.

  “Señor Trujillo,” he said. “Buenas noches.”

  The vaquero looked up through bleary, bloodshot eyes. “Ah, my friend Gomez. How are you this fine evening?” he said, only slurring his words slightly.

  Three-Fingers pulled up a chair from a nearby table and sat next to Trujillo. “I’m fine. I have reconsidered your offer and wonder if you still want to buy our cattle.”

  “Sí,” Trujillo said, his eyes becoming more alert. “But I can only pay what we discussed before.”

  “That’s fine,” Gomez said, “as long as we can make the deal tonight.”

  “Why the rush, señor? Sit, drink, and enjoy the company of the fine señoritas here at the cantina. We can talk business later.”

  Gomez shook his head. “No, Señor Trujillo. It must be tonight. My compadres and I must be on the trail early in the morning.”

  Trujillo’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You have trouble, no?”

  “We have much trouble, señor, and if we don’t sell you those cattle tonight, you won’t be able to buy half the number from anyone else with what you have to spend.”

  Trujillo nodded. “All right. Make out a bill of sale and I will give you the moneys.”

  Gomez looked over his shoulder at Curly Bill, who nodded. Gomez pulled out a piece of paper, and wrote he was selling the cattle to Trujillo and listed the price. When he pushed the paper across the table to the Mexican, Trujillo grinned, grabbed a leather wallet from inside his coat, and handed it to Gomez. He stuck out his hand and they shook on the deal.

  Gomez got up from the table and walked to the bar, followed by Curly Bob and Rawhide Jack. He counted the money in the wallet, ordered tequila all around, and when the drinks arrived, leaned back against the bar and surveyed the other inhabitants of the place.

  “Now,” Gomez said, “we’ve got to find some men willing to take money to get rid of Smoke Jensen.”

  Curly Bob took a deep drink of the tequila, made a face, and said in a hoarse voice, “That shouldn’t be too hard from the looks of the men here.”

  Rawhide Jack, after seeing the effect the tequila had on Curly Bob, took a tiny sip, then put the glass back down on the bar without finishing it. He pointed to a table in a far corner of the room, occupied by six men who were all wearing pistols in holsters tied down low on their thighs. Two of the men had bandoliers of rifle shells crisscrossed on their chests.

  “Those gents look the type,” he said.

  “Why don’t you go have a word with them?” Curly Bob said to Gomez. “I think it’d go better if you went alone. You’ll probably have to speak Mex to ’em anyway.”

  Gomez nodded and started toward the men, but Curly Bob grabbed his arm.

  “Don’t offer ’em more’n you have to. We need some of that money to travel on.”

  He stared at Curly Bob for a moment, then reached over to the bar and grabbed the bottle of tequila, taking it with him to the table.

  Curly Bob watched as Gomez sat at the men’s table and began pouring them all drinks from the bottle of tequila.

  “Man knows how to bargain,” Rawhide Jack said.

  “You know, Rawhide, I been wonderin’ if we might not ought’a think ’bout moseyin’ on down the road alone. Could be that stickin’ with Gomez is gonna get us hanged right along with him if that Jensen feller comes after us.”

  Rawhide Jack’s eyes strayed back to Gomez. “You might be right, Curly. We’ll just have to play it by ear. One thing, though, from what I heard ’bout Jensen, if he do come after us, it would be good to have an extra gun along. I’d hate to face him without a whole lot of firepower.”

  “There is that to consider,” Curly Bob said.

  After a few minutes, Gomez and two of the men at the table got up and walked out the door.

  Curly Bob and Rawhide Jack followed.

  Gomez talked in a low voice to the men, then pulled out the leather wallet Trujillo had given him and counted out a number of bills. He handed them to the men, who grinned, stuffed the bills in their coats, and went back into the cantina.

  “Well?” Curly Bob asked.

  “It is done,” Gomez answered. “I described Jensen to them, said they couldn’t miss him bein’ as how he’s ’bout the biggest man in town.”

  “They gonna do it?” Rawhide Jack asked.

  “Yeah. They said for us to stay outta sight until tomorrow evening an’ they’d hunt him down and put a window in his skull.” Gomez grinned. “I told ’em he’d probably be over at the Silver Dollar talking to Dolly, tryin’ to find out where we were stayin’.”

  Curly Bob nodded.

  Gomez looked at him, his eyes flat. “I told him as long as they were doin’ it, I’d pay an extra fifty dollars if Dolly happened to get caught in the cross fire.”

  “Why’d you do that?” Rawhide Jack asked.

  “’Cause she’s figured out I gunned down the Kid. I don’t want her talkin’ to no lawmen after we’re gone.”

  “We gonna wait around to pay ’em after it’s over?” Curly Bob asked.

  “Hell, no,” Gomez answered with a grin. “I’m hightailin’ it outta town tonight. I ain’t waitin’ around to see how it all turns out.”

  “Where you figuring on headin’ to?” Rawhide Jack asked.

  Gomez scratched his chin for a moment, then smiled. “I think I’ll head down south, toward Galveston. Might just catch me one of those steamboats and take a little cruise on around to
the East Coast.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” Curly Bob said, looking at Rawhide Jack. “Even if Jensen does survive the fracas with the Mexes, he’ll never be able to track us on a boat.”

  Rawhide Jack thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I’m afraid I’m gonna have to pass, boys. The one time I was on a boat, I got so sick I like to puked my guts out.”

  Gomez looked at him suspiciously. “Well, what are you gonna do?”

  “I’m gonna head on over to Jacksboro. I heard that’s where a lot of fellers go when they on the run from the law, or somebody else who might be huntin’ ’em. I figure the town’s big enough to get lost in for a while, ’specially if ’n it’s full of other men on the hideout too. After all, Jensen ain’t gonna be lookin’ for me. I didn’t kill nobody.”

  Gomez started to say something, his face red with anger, but Curly Bob grabbed his arm. “Come on, Three-Fingers. Rawhide’s right. Makes better sense if ’n we split up anyhow. If Jensen does come lookin’ and askin’ around, he’ll be lookin’ for three men ridin’ together, not two.”

  “All right,” Gomez admitted. “But you better keep your mouth shut about what you know, Rawhide, or it won’t only be Jensen come lookin’ for you.”

  Curly Bob glanced at the horizon, where specks of light could be seen.

  “Come on, boys. It’s gettin’ on toward dawn an’ I want to be in the saddle ’fore sunup.”

  The three men walked rapidly back to the hotel, split the rest of the money, and packed their bags, then headed to the livery stable where they’d left their horses.

  They paid off the boy at the stable and rode out to the edge of town.

  They sat there for a moment, looking at the two roads leading away, one south, one north.

  “Adios,” Gomez said, sticking out his hand to Rawhide Jack.

  Jack took it and smiled. “Good luck, boys.”

  Curly Bob grinned. “Luck don’t hardly have nothin’ to do with it, Rawhide. You ride with your guns loose, you hear?”

  Rawhide waved and started his horse up the north trail while Gomez and Curly Bob turned south toward Galveston.