City of Bad Men Page 16

  With no mention of the scouts or what they’d reported, the captain led the column on in silence for the next thousand yards.

  Finally he broke the silence, saying, “We will continue down past the main trail toward la Ciudad de Hombres Malos until we are certain there are no outlaws lurking about.”

  “Sí, Capitan,” Sergeant Lopez replied, going along with him.

  Captain Fuente turned to him with a guarded, knowing smile. “This is what is expected of us, Sergeant,” he said quietly.

  An hour behind the Cut-Jaws, the two lawmen pushed on at the same strong, steady gallop they’d been riding at since they first began following the gang’s fresh tracks. There was no doubt that the riders were headed for the old French mining complex, Dawson thought as they started across an open stretch of rocky ground leading up into the tree-covered hillside.

  “There’s no question now what they’re getting ready to do,” Caldwell said as they stopped at a blind turn in the trail to rest their horses. “Unless the French or the federales are there, the mines are sitting ducks for a big gang like the Cut-Jaws.”

  “Santana must’ve slipped in and joined them in the night at the cantina,” Dawson said, staring at the hoof-prints on the ground as if they held more secrets than he could discern.

  “Maybe,” said Caldwell. “We know James ‘the Fist’ Long is dead. But there’s still Morgan Thorpe. Maybe Santana is sitting this one out and meeting up with the gang afterwards.”

  “Would he do that?” Dawson looked at him as he considered it.

  Caldwell shrugged. “He’s the boss,” he said. “He can do whatever suits him.”

  Dawson thought about it. “I should have figured right off that it was the mines the gang would be after. There’s nothing else around that big.”

  “Nobody robs mines,” Caldwell reminded him. “Not like this anyway. It’s too much work. It’s like stealing a load of rocks until the gold is refined.”

  “Right,” said Dawson, “and the Mexican government forbids refining gold anywhere except in Matamoros or Mexico City.”

  “They like to keep it close, where they keep their hands in the counting,” Caldwell said wryly.

  Dawson thought about the miners they’d seen earlier and throughout the day—two, three and four of them at a time traveling along the lower trails to town.

  “It can’t be a payroll robbery,” he said. “It looks like everybody’s gotten settled up and is headed out to spend it.”

  “What else could be there . . .?” Caldwell mused.

  “Big enough to make it worthwhile for a gang like the Cut-Jaws?” Dawson added for him.

  Caldwell said, “On the way to town, Shaw woke up enough to say it was this new mine owner, Readling, who tried to have him killed.”

  “He also said it was all over a woman who’s traveling with Howard Readling,” Dawson reminded him. “I don’t know anything about Readling except what I’ve come across in the newspaper now and then. But rich men don’t like somebody getting too close to their womenfolk. Shaw is not the kind of man to back away quietly if he sees a woman he’s stricken with.”

  “Yes, right . . . ,” Caldwell said, letting out a troubled breath. “But none of this tells us what the Cut-Jaws are after at Readling’s new mine project.”

  The two stood for a moment considering what Shaw had managed to tell them during his few hazy moments of consciousness on the way to town. Dawson shook his head slowly and came to a conclusion.

  “Shaw’s out of his head. We shouldn’t pay a lot of attention to what he said. He sees witches and sparrows. He sees his dead wife . . .” He paused as the vision of Rosa came to his mind, then slowly drifted away.

  “I hate to say it,” Caldwell put in, “but I don’t think we can put much stock in anything he tells us.”

  “Not until he gets better,” the marshal was quick to reply.

  “If he ever gets better,” the deputy added, not liking his own words.

  The two had started to turn their horses back to the trail when the sound of heavy gunfire resounded from the direction of the mines.

  “Uh-oh,” Dawson said, “it sounds like the party has started without us.”

  Chapter 18

  When the two scouts heard the gunfire coming from the mines, they only stopped for a moment, long enough to listen to the intensity of the battle and shake their heads. Then they turned forward in their saddles and kicked their horses up into a trot in the direction of la Ciudad de Hombres Malos.

  “The farther we are from the mines, the better,” said the older scout.

  “We were told to ride as far as town,” said the younger soldier. “So, that is what we did, eh? If ever we are asked about it?”

  “Yes, exactly,” said the older scout. “It sounds like you are quickly learning what it takes to be a scout for the Mexican Army.”

  “Sí, I am learning to keep my mouth shut and my eyes straight ahead,” said the young scout.

  “At least we are out of any fighting,” said the older scout. “I suppose we can be grateful to the capitan for that.”

  “Sí, what can happen to us now?” said the younger man. “All we have to do now is ride on to town and be careful not to fall off of the trail.”

  They both laughed and rode ahead at a faster pace, neither one of them interested in going back to the column now that they knew the captain, and possibly their sergeant as well, had some sort of deal cooking with the Cut-Jaws Gang.

  They rode on as the battle continued in the hills behind them....

  At the mines, the few inexperienced soldiers Sergeant Lopez had left to stand guard lay dead in the dirt. They had been standing at the front entrance guard shack to keep an eye on the trail. But when the Cut-Jaws hit, they did so with such speed and ferocity that the soldiers offered almost no defense.

  Inside the office shack, Dorphin, the Johnson brothers and Howard Readling had taken cover, piling furniture and equipment against the doors and in front of the windows. As the firing intensified, Readling crawled across the dusty wooden floor, ventured his face up to a window ledge and looked out, back and forth and all around the mine yard.

  “Where the devil is Doc? And where’s Rosa?” Readling said, dropping down quickly as a bullet whistled through the window past his head.

  Dorphin and the Johnson brothers ducked down from the windows. They looked at each other. Dorphin crawled over beside Readling as he emptied the spent, smoking cartridge shells from his revolver and reloaded.

  “It won’t matter where either of them are if you get your head shot off,” he said, speaking loud above the gunfire.

  “Why are they robbing a damn mine project?” Readling asked loudly. “Don’t they know this is all rough ore, still to be separated and refined?”

  “You’ll have to ask them that, sir,” said Dorphin, getting a little put out by Readling’s insistent questioning. “I’m busy keeping you covered and alive right now.”

  The shooting outside stopped short as Morgan Thorpe, who stood behind an empty freight wagon, shouted out loudly to his men, “Hold your fire, everybody. It’s time I do some talking to this fine gentleman!”

  Readling and Dorphin both ventured up and peeped out the window. “What do you suppose this is?” Readling whispered to Dorphin.

  Before Dorphin could reply, Thorpe called out in an almost playful tone, “Howard Readling, I know who you are. I believe you’re smart enough to see where this is going to go. You’ll all die if you keep fighting.”

  “Who the blazes are you?” Readling shouted out across the window ledge. “Are you Mingus Santana?”

  Thorpe smiled to the men beside him and called out in reply, “Yep, that’s me, Mingus Santana.”

  “Well, Santana,” Readling said with a bitter snap to his voice, “you’ve overplayed your hand this time. There’s nothing here for you to rob unless you want to get your hands loading gold ore and hauling it somewhere to smelt it down.”

  “No, thanks, Readling
,” Thorpe called out. “I want to leave here traveling light as we can.”

  “Then I’m sorry to disappoint you, Santana,” Readling said. “You’ve made the trip for nothing.”

  “Come on, now, Mr. Readling,” Thorpe said knowingly, “don’t make me turn ugly over this.”

  “It’s the truth, Santana. There’s no gold here,” Dorphin called out. “Even the payroll’s been made for the month. You’ve missed out on it. Now back away.”

  Readling turned to Dorphin and said, “Get a rifle and kill this son of a bitch, Big T.”

  Dorphin only stared at him for a moment.

  “Do you hear me, Willis?” Readling asked in a sharp tone.

  “Right, sir,” Dorphin said.

  He flagged Elvis Johnson to him, needing the rifle Elvis had in his hand. As Elvis crawled forward, Dorphin looked back and forth across the dusty yard.

  Readling watched him. “I doubt very much that this is Santana speaking to us,” he said to Dorphin. “But he must be the leader of these men. One good shot could change everything.”

  “Or it could make certain we all die here,” Dorphin said.

  “I want him dead all the same,” said Readling.

  “Whatever you say, sir,” Dorphin replied.

  “Back away . . .?” Thorpe gave a dark chuckle as he called out to the shack.

  “Dorphin, here’s your chance,” Readling said, easing to one side in order for Dorphin to slide the rifle barrel out over the window ledge and take aim.

  “That’s right. Back away,” said Dorphin, “there’s nothing for you here.”

  “What about that wagon you drove here all the way from the border?” Thorpe called out.

  “Supplies, nothing else,” Dorphin called out. He focused down the rifle sights and watched for the man to make himself the slightest bit more visible.

  “I hope you’re not lying,” Thorpe called out, “else I’ll have to kill every one of yas.”

  “We’re not lying to you,” Readling called out, giving Dorphin the opportunity to take his time and make his shot count.

  Thorpe looked across the yard at Killer Cady and Carlos Loonie, who stood at the entrance of mine number three.

  “What about it, Cady? Are they being honest with me?” Thorpe asked. “Or is there a load of cash and U.S. gold bars down inside that closed mine?”

  Howard Readling stiffened at Thorpe’s words. “How could they know?” He gave Dorphin an accusing stare.

  “Don’t ask me,” Dorphin said. “How the hell could I have told them?” They both looked around at the Johnson brothers with questioning eyes.

  “Don’t neither one of yas say something you’ll regret,” said Witt Johnson. “Nobody accuses me and my brother of nothing unless they’re ready to back it up with their lives.” He levered a round into his rifle as he spoke.

  “Doc Penton?” asked Readling.

  “I don’t think so,” said Dorphin. “Doc most likely got caught short when this thing started, ran out of nerve and hightailed it while he could.”

  “Then how’d they know?” Readling demanded.

  “What about the woman, Readling?” Dorphin asked, dropping the Mister, now that everybody’s life was on the line.

  “She didn’t know about it,” Readling said. “I never told her.”

  Before they could discuss it further, Thorpe called out, “I bet you’re saying to each other, how’s he think he’s going to get that loot up outta there and loaded with us shooting at him? Right?”

  “It’s something you better think about,” Readling said in a threatening tone. As he spoke he saw the man claiming to be Santana take a step out past the protection of the wagon. “Get ready, Big T,” he whispered down to Dorphin.

  “Ready,” Dorphin said. Yet, even with his finger on the rifle trigger and his focus down the rifle sights, he had no intention of shooting.

  “I did think about it,” Thorpe called out. “I figure you won’t be shooting so long as I’ve got this beauty of yours in hand.” He stepped farther out from behind the wagon with the woman pressed against his side, his arm snuggly around her waist.

  “Jesus, no!” Readling whined, seeing the look of terror on Rosa Reyes’ face. He cried, “Don’t shoot!” as he grabbed Dorphin by his shoulder. But his sudden grip was enough to cause Dorphin to make a shot he’d otherwise decided against taking. The rifle bucked in his hands. At the wagon, Thorpe jumped back behind cover and slung the woman away from him. Breck caught her and kept her from falling.

  “The fool shot me!” Thorpe said, leaning back against the wagon, his hands gripping his bleeding side.

  From the shack, Readling called out, “Hold your fire out there, please! That shot was an accident. It wasn’t intentional! Don’t hurt her!”

  In spite of his wound, Thorpe called out, “Another accident like that and I’ll gut her and let you watch her spill out on the ground! Am I clear on that?”

  “Yes, you’re clear!” Readling said quickly. “We understand! I give my word. No more shooting!”

  Thorpe looked at the others with a pained smile and said, “That’s how easy it is.” He nodded toward where Killer Cady, Silver Bones and Carlos Loonie stood out in front of mine number three and said, “Some of yas get over there, get the loot up out of the mine.”

  “Man, you are shot bad,” said Breck, turning the woman loose and stepping over to him for a closer look.

  “Never mind me,” said Thorpe. “Let’s get done and get out of here.” He jerked his bandana from around his neck, wadded it and pressed it against his bleeding side. “I’m going to have to . . . ride back to town.” He grinned. “I hear that priest there . . . does good doctoring.”

  “Santana ain’t going to like us riding there with all this swag,” said Breck. “You said he wanted us to meet him at the canyon over at San Simon.”

  “Santana knows things don’t always go the way we want them to,” said Thorpe. “Now let’s get busy and get it done, before I bleed to death.”

  When the Cut-Jaws had carried up the cash and the gold bars, they’d loaded it all back onto the wagon it had arrived on. Carlos Loonie pulled the wagon out of sight, locked its brake, jumped down from the seat and ran back to where Thorpe stood bleeding.

  “Whoa!” said Loonie at the sight of blood. “What happened?”

  “What does it look like?” said Thorpe. “I took a bullet.” He nodded toward the loaded freight wagon. “I’ll be having to leave here in a wagon until we get to town and get this wound dressed.”

  “Sure thing,” said Loonie. “I’ll drive you. Let’s get out of here.”

  “One minute,” said Thorpe. He turned toward the office shack and called out, “Readling, we’re all loaded up out here.”

  Readling called out, “Then let the woman go, like you said you would.”

  “I never said I’d let the woman go when we got finished,” Thorpe said. “I said I wouldn’t kill her if you didn’t fire on us while we loaded up.”

  “Damn it!” Readling said to Dorphin beside him.

  “Just so you know, don’t turn ugly and go blaming your men, Readling,” Thorpe called out. “We found the swag by following the footprints into the closed-down mine.”

  Around the yard, the other Cut-Jaws laughed along with Thorpe.

  Dorphin shook his bowed head and cursed under his breath. “The damn footprints. We didn’t sweep them away.”

  “Damn it, Willis,” said Readling. He rubbed his palm over his face to collect himself. Then he said, “Hell, I never thought of it either.”

  “Don’t go easy on me,” Dorphin said. “I failed you, sir. I’m going to have to live with that fact for the rest of my life.”

  Turning back to the window ledge, Readling called out to Thorpe, “Let the woman go! Show some honor here.”

  “Don’t tell me about honor,” said Thorpe. “She goes with us. If you come dogging us, she dies.”

  “I won’t follow you,” Readling said. “I give you my wor
d.”

  “The word of a big business tycoon. Now, that is hard to resist,” Thorpe said wryly. “But I’ll have to pass. I need some insurance to keep you off my trail.”

  Readling started to say something, but Dorphin cut in ahead of him and called out, “Take me, leave the woman.”

  “He’s not going to go for that,” Readling said to Dorphin. “Thanks for trying.”

  But to everybody’s surprise, the outlaw called out in reply, “Who are you, then?”

  Readling took the cue. “He’s my right-hand man, Willis Dorphin. He’s more like family than hired help. He’s the brother I never had. If anything happens to him, you won’t be able to run fast enough or far enou—”

  “Stop selling,” shouted Thorpe. “Send him out. I’ll trade the woman for him.”

  The Johnson brothers stood staring. “What kind of fool is this Santana anyway?”

  “I don’t know,” said Readling, “but I’m not turning nothing down.” He looked at Dorphin. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Want to . . . No,” said Dorphin. “But I’ll do it for you and for the woman. It’ll make up for leaving those footprints.”

  Readling reached out and patted his shoulder. “Good man, by God, sir,” he said proudly. Then he called out to Thorpe, “I’m sending him out. What about the woman?”

  “Soon as your man gets over here, I send the woman over there,” Thorpe said, “plain and simple.”

  “All right,” said Readling, “here he comes.”

  Chapter 19

  The woman stood watching from her spot beside Ned Breck as Willis Dorphin walked out of the office shack and over to where his horse stood hitched to a post, just out of what had been the line of gunfire. The rest of the Cut-Jaws stood behind cover. They eyed him while he unhitched his horse and led it across the yard, his hands chest high, his revolver holstered—still carrying Shaw’s big Colt shoved down behind his belt.

  “Easy, everybody,” said Thorpe with a faint smile on his face. “It’s all going our way.”