Post by California gal on Jun 17, 2012 10:10:35 GMT -8
THE NIGHT OF THE DEVIL’S MISTRESS
Give me your hand first; fare you well.
—Julius Caesar (Act V, Scene 5), William Shakespeare (1564-1616), English dramatist and poet
Give me your hand first; fare you well.
—Julius Caesar (Act V, Scene 5), William Shakespeare (1564-1616), English dramatist and poet
“James my boy, this looks like it could be it.”
“I agree, Artemus. What do you say we go out in a blaze of glory?”
“I couldn’t have said it better, James.” He turned to his partner, and held out a hand. “I’m glad to have known you.”
Jim gripped that hand tightly for a moment, but said nothing. Down below them, hidden among the rocks, were at least thirty or forty men who wanted to kill them. He and Artie could get a few more of them, no doubt, but not nearly enough. Eventually those men would realize their opponents were out of ammunition. But before that happens, we will get as many of them as we can!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
W*W*W*W*W
Of Adam's first wife, Lilith, it is told
(The witch he loved before the gift of Eve)
That ere the snakes, her sweet tongue could deceive
And her enchanted hair was the first gold—
And still she sits, young while the earth is old
And, subtly of herself contemplative,
Draws men to watch the bright net she can weave,
Till heart and body and life are in its hold.
—Lilith, Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828-1882), English painter and poet
W*W*W*W*W
Of Adam's first wife, Lilith, it is told
(The witch he loved before the gift of Eve)
That ere the snakes, her sweet tongue could deceive
And her enchanted hair was the first gold—
And still she sits, young while the earth is old
And, subtly of herself contemplative,
Draws men to watch the bright net she can weave,
Till heart and body and life are in its hold.
—Lilith, Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828-1882), English painter and poet
A few days earlier…
Artemus Gordon’s frown was deep as he mounted the chestnut after leading it out of the train car. “I have a bad feeling about this, Jim.”
Jim West nodded as he settled into the saddle. “Ned Malone is a good agent, but he’s also young and lacks experience.”
Now Artie shook his head as they started their steeds moving across the arid land. “Such a simple errand. Deliver a letter and go back to Phoenix.”
“You know as well as I do, Artie… things happen.”
Artemus did not reply as they urged their horses into a steady, ground burning lope. They had almost a two-day ride to Rattlesnake Wells, possibly longer. This siding was the closest they could get to the town in this part of the territory. The remoteness of the town and the lack of regular mail service to it was one reason why Ned Malone had been assigned to deliver the missive. He should have reported back to Phoenix several days ago.
Ordinarily, Malone’s usual partner, agent Frank Harper, would have accompanied him, or at least would have been assigned to track him down. But Frank was in Phoenix recovering from a bullet wound received during the pair’s last job in that city. In fact, West and Gordon had diverted their train on its way back to Washington to pick up Harper when this information was routed to them. The train crew would care for Frank while the other agents sought the young man.
Both Jim and Artie felt certain closeness—and even some responsibility for—young Edward Malone. The youthful agent had assisted them ably in one of his first assignments, and had since proven his courage and resourcefulness. Frank Harper had pretty much taken Malone under his wing and had often raved about the young agent’s progress and intelligence.
Malone wouldn’t do something stupid. Artie was pretty sure of that. Although a pretty good fighter and able to handle weapons, he was no Jim West. Malone was aware of that and used his other skills—his considerable charm and his brain. Kind of like me. Artie smiled inwardly. Frank was instructing Malone in the use and application of makeup and prostheses in disguises, and Artemus did as well when the opportunity arose.
The orders Ned had received had been to deliver the letter and return to Phoenix; he should have been back in time to also travel east on the Wanderer. As far as Gordon and West knew, the contents of the letter were not especially urgent. Malone had been sent because he was free of any current assignment.
Little was known about the town of Rattlesnake Wells or the area around it. Fort Challenge was about sixty miles south and east, and Jim suspected that the landscape was going to be similar—rough and arid. Rattlesnake Wells could not be a very big town, nor was it likely to be prosperous. The attorney in question, one John Gantt, had been practicing in Salt Lake City until two years ago, and Jim knew that the letter addressed to him was in regard to some government business Gantt had been involved in while in Utah.
Officials had simply taken advantage of the fact that Ned Malone was in Arizona and available to send him on this errand. Gantt needed to see and perhaps respond to the correspondence, but timing was not important, apparently. Why Ned had not returned on schedule was the big worry. Had he met with an accident along the way? In such a rough and remote area, any number of things could have happened, including bushwhacking.
At midday the agents came across a shallow stream and a small grove of cottonwoods, so they took advantage of the shade and water to rest themselves and their horses and have a meal. They did not talk much, nor attempt to speculate what had happened to their fellow agent. What they needed was to find out, not talk about it.
By sundown, two weary men and their equally weary horses made a dry camp among some rocks, having been unable to find further water and grateful they had been able to refill their canteens at the noontime stop. They had enough to refresh their horses as well as themselves, although both agreed they had better skip coffee in the morning. They had several hours of riding before they reached their destination and no knowledge of the countryside, especially where water was concerned.
At least, as Artemus commented while they saddled up in the morning, the time of year was in their favor. April in Arizona was warm, but not nearly so warm as it would be in July or August. However they were also missing the monsoon season when they might have encountered a bit of rain, when streams would have been running full.
The very crude map they had been given showed a road that led from Yuma to Rattlesnake Wells, and eventually, around midmorning of the second day, they encountered that road which, as Artie pointed out, was more of a trail than a road. Some signs indicated wagons traversed it, but not often.
“Wonder why this lawyer relocated to this town,” Jim mused as they rode. “As I understood, he had a very lucrative practice in Salt Lake City.”
“Maybe he likes small towns,” Artie retorted. “Not to mention little money!”
“Could be we’ll find out once we get there.”
“If we ever get there. Feels like we’ve been riding for days and…” Artie’s words halted as they topped a low rise and a high mesa came into view. “That must be it,” he said. The mesa was on the map.
“Or a mirage.”
They continued, as the trail dipped and then led around the periphery of the mesa, which was not the largest they had ever viewed, but still of good size. On this side the slopes were steep and fairly bare, but as they rounded and headed south again, the terrain became rougher, with larger and larger boulders becoming visible. Then piles of those rocks, building a lesser angled slope on the opposite side. They also saw in the distance a number of buildings.
Jim abruptly pulled his dusty black horse to a halt. “Artie…”
Artemus had halted his chestnut as well. “Maybe we’d better go into town separately.”
Jim nodded, unsurprised that his partner was having the same thoughts. “I’ll go on ahead, ask some questions. Follow me in a couple of hours.”
Artie pointed toward a grove of trees that appeared to be a mile or two towards the west. “Might be water in that spot. I’ll wait there and devise a disguise.”
“Any ideas what?”
Artie shrugged. “Seems to me in this kind of terrain, an addled old desert rat ought to be about right.”
Jim smiled briefly. “And one you do well.”
His partner’s dark brows lifted. “Are you insinuating that I’m addled, James?”
“You said it, not me,” Jim chuckled. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”
“Take care, Jim. We have no idea what’s going on—if anything.”
Jim waved and urged his horse forward. As he neared the cluster of buildings, he initially saw pretty much what he expected. Most structures on the outskirts were quite dilapidated. One that bore a sagging sign identifying it as having once been a livery stable had its roof half gone, and one wall nonexistent. The attached corral fence appeared to have been scavenged for wood.
However, heading into the middle of the town, he saw the buildings were in better shape, but not by much, not at all what he expected. All needed paint as well as other repairs. Only three or four people, all men, were on the sidewalks, and they paused to stare at him as he rode down the street. Jim saw wariness in their stances. Not many newcomers came this way, no doubt.
He had thought he would see more existing businesses, but only three appeared to be open: a general mercantile, a restaurant and a saloon. Spotting one of the sturdier buildings with a sign “Town Marshal,” Jim steered the black horse that way and dismounted in front of it.
Upon stepping up onto the porch, Jim discovered that the door of the office was locked. He rapped on it a couple of times without response, so he turned and looked around. Directly across the street he saw the office of “John L. Gantt, Attorney-at-Law.” He strode across the street, still conscious of the eyes on him. The men he had noticed initially had not moved and were still watching. At least the door to the attorney’s office was open, and Jim stepped inside. A young man was seated at a desk. He looked up in surprise.
“Yes, sir?”
“I’d like to speak to Mr. Gantt, please.”
“I’m sorry. Mr. Gantt insists on appointments. If you’d like to make one…”
Jim reached inside his coat and produced the leather folder with his badge and identification. “James West. Please ask Mr. Gantt to make an exception.”
Now the clerk jumped to his feet. “Yes, sir. One moment sir!” He hurried through a door behind him. Within seconds he returned, waving Jim to enter.
The man inside the book-lined office was in his late forties, Jim judged, with thinning dark hair, a rather round face that went along with his round body. He smiled widely. “Mr. James West! This is an honor! I’ve heard so much about you through the years. Why have I the pleasure of a visit from you?”
“Mr. Gantt, did an Edward Malone come to see you in the last couple of weeks?”
Gantt frowned. “Malone? I don't think so. Name isn’t familiar. Describe him?”
“Young man, about twenty-five, blond, blue-eyes. He’s also a government agent.”
Now Gantt was shaking his head, obviously baffled. “Doesn’t sound familiar at all. Why would an agent be coming to see me?”
“He was to deliver a letter regarding the Gil Bratton case.”
“I thought that case was closed!”
“It is, but some new information apparently came to light. I don't know the details. They were in the letter. I’m sure a duplicate will be on its way to you soon. My task is to locate Mr. Malone.”
“I wish I could help you, but I haven’t seen him. Is it possible he met with an accident on his way here?”
“All too possible,” Jim replied somberly. “This is just a starting point. I’ll have to try to backtrack him now. Of course, I probably should ask around town first.”
“Yes. Yes, I suppose that’s a good idea. However, it would seem to me that if Mr. Malone’s assignment was to call on me…”
“Yes. I know. Still, I have to be thorough. Is there a hotel in town?”
Gantt’s expression was rueful. “I’m afraid not. As you can likely discern, Rattlesnake Wells is not the most prosperous of towns at the moment.”
“I did notice. I presume the few stores exist with the support of farms and ranchers in the area.”
“As well as a couple of mines. The hope is that one of those mines will make a big strike.”
“I’m sure that would help.” Jim smiled slightly. “Any suggestions where I might find a room for the night?”
Gantt shrugged. “I know there are rooms above the saloon. Can’t vouch for their condition.”
“Any port in a storm, as the saying goes. Thank you, Mr. Gantt.” Jim started to turn toward the door but paused when the lawyer spoke again.
“I was under the impression that you always worked with a partner, Mr. West. Is he here with you?”
“No. He had another assignment. Doesn’t happen often, but occasionally we do get sent on different tasks. Thanks again.”
Noticing that the assistant was not at his desk, Jim passed through the outer room out onto the street, where he paused just a moment then headed toward the saloon. Except for the restaurant and general store, the other buildings were dark, most with boards over their doors and windows. Not a very prosperous town indeed. The puzzle of why a man like John Gantt would leave a successful practice and relocate here was even stronger.
The saloon proved to be the biggest surprise. The exterior matched the other buildings, unpainted and shabby, but once inside, Jim knew he had not been in a finer-appearing place this side of Saint Louis. Mirrors gleamed behind the long polished bar, and glistening glasses were stacked on the shelves among equally shiny bottles. Everything was first class, including the requisite portrait of a reclining nearly nude lady on one wall.
The saloon was also heavily populated. Perhaps that was even more astonishing. Probably twenty-five or thirty men were at the bar or occupying tables scattered around the room; several women were interspersed among them. A couple of poker games were in progress. One glance informed Jim that these men were not necessarily cowhands having an afternoon of recreation. He recognized a few of them and also sensed that every one of these men knew who he was and why he was here, especially because conversation all but ceased for a few seconds upon his entry.
He moved through the tables to the bar and asked for a beer from the smiling bartender. When it was served he put a coin on the bar. “I was told I might be able to get a room for the night here.”
“Maybe. You’ll have to talk to Mrs. Devereux.”
“Mrs. Devereux?”
“The owner. She’ll be down shortly. Enjoy your beer.”
Jim murmured his thanks and sipped the beer, his gaze in the mirror. Every man—and woman—present was watching him. I sometimes tell Artie that things are not always what they seem. In this case, however, I have a feeling things are exactly as they seem. Something is going on here… and I’m even more worried about Ned.
He had consumed about half the beer and was considering asking the bartender to send for this Mrs. Devereux when a man who had been sitting at a table glaring at him abruptly got to his feet and stalked toward him. “West!”
“Hello, Horse. I wondered where you had gotten to.”
Horace Creech was a rawboned man with thinning blond hair and with enough vanity that caused him to generally keep his hat on. The given name had been shortened to “Horse” a long time ago due to the similarity in pronunciation.
“You ain’t welcome here,” Creech snarled. His right hand hovered close to the weapon strapped to this side.
“Sorry to hear that. However, I do have business here.”
“I’m sayin’ you ain’t and you best get moving on out of here. Now.”
Jim casually lifted the glass of beer to his lips, keeping his eyes fastened on Creech. He saw the flicker in the other man’s gaze and the slight flinch to his shoulders. The beer glass fell toward the floor almost at the same instant Jim’s hand came up with his pistol it in. He fired once and Horse Creech screamed in pain, dropping his own gun as he grabbed his upper right arm with his left hand. Blood seeped through his fingers.
“Damn you!” Creech squealed. “Kill him! Kill him!”
Jim tensed as he realized that several men had come to their feet and were ready to pull their weapons. Before that happened, a woman’s clear voice rang out. “That’s enough!”
Every man froze, their eyes turning toward the woman descending the stairs at the far end of the room. She was beautiful, with glowing chestnut hair stylishly coifed, clad in a satin gown in a shade of gold that enhanced the color of her hair and displayed a magnificent figure. Jim thought she was probably in her mid thirties, perhaps a year or two younger or older. She was smiling as she approached him, the admiration overt in her gold-brown eyes.
Jim glanced down at the shattered glass on the floor and the spilled beer. “Sorry about the mess.”
“Not a problem,” she said, shifting her gaze to the other men. “Get back to whatever you were doing. Creech, go find Lucas. He’ll fix you up.”
Not waiting to see if her commands were obeyed—which they were—she turned back to Jim. “Hello.”
Jim smiled. “Mrs. Devereux?”
“Madalon. Madalon Devereux. Mr.—?”
“West. James West. Have you a room I can rent for the night?”
“A very nice room, Mr. West. Would you like to see it?”
“I would.”
“This is a surprising place,” Jim commented as he followed her up the stairs.
“I think you’ll find many surprises in Rattlesnake Wells,” she replied, glancing back over her shoulder with her gleaming eyes.
“I shouldn’t be surprised.”
She laughed as they reached the upper floor. “That’s my room,” she pointed to the first door. “I’ll put you in the one next to it… for now.”
Opening the door, she preceded him in. The room was small, but nicely furnished with a bureau and a single bed. “I think this will do fine. How much do I owe you?”
“We can talk about that later. What brings you to Rattlesnake Wells, Mr. West?”
“I’m looking for a friend who has gone missing. Perhaps you saw him. Young man, blond, blue eyes. His name is Edward Malone. Called Ned.”
“I’m afraid I cannot help you on that score. We don’t get many visitors here. I’m sure I would have noticed him. Has he been missing long?”
“A week or so. He was on an errand and didn’t return.”
“How sad. You’re very good with your gun.”
“Just a knack.”
“James West. The name is familiar.”
“Is it? Kind of a common name, I guess.”
“But not a common man.”
“How’s the food in the restaurant down the street?”
“Terrible. At least compared to mine. I invite you to take your meals with me, Mr. West. Dinner… and breakfast… at no extra charge.”
“That’s very tempting.” He smiled warmly, meeting her eyes. Once again, he realized, things were exactly as they seemed. She was attempting to seduce him and making no bones about it. Perhaps the real question was why. Why so quickly and so openly? Jim West was accustomed to women noticing him and making advances, but he sensed more existed in her motives than the usual.
“I’m sure you want to rest and clean up. I’ll have some hot water sent up. I’ll let you know when dinner is ready.”
“Thank you. I should attend to my horse. I noticed the livery stable seemed to be out of business.”
She laughed. It was a rich and throaty sound. “Slightly. But I have a stable out back. You may put him there. My hostler will take care of him for you.”
“I’d better do that myself. My horse can be a bit difficult to handle.”
“Just like its master, I’ll wager. I’m very glad to have met you, Mr. West.” Madalon Devereux turned and left the room, closing the door behind her. Only then did Jim realize he had not been given a key to the room.
Probably on purpose!
W*W*W*W*W
They say, an old man is twice a child.
—Hamlet (Act II, Scene 2), William Shakespeare (1564-1616), English dramatist and poet
They say, an old man is twice a child.
—Hamlet (Act II, Scene 2), William Shakespeare (1564-1616), English dramatist and poet
“Hey, old timer, where the hell you get a horse like that?”
Artie carefully wrapped the reins of the chestnut around the hitching rack, grabbed onto a post as though for support, and pulled himself up onto the porch of the only saloon he saw in town. He had dismounted slowly and stiffly, as befitting a man with a white beard. “Ain’t no business of yours, sonny!” he cackled. “But if ya gotta know, I found her. Raised her from a pup, I did.”
“How much you want for her?” the man leaning against the wall asked. He was lean and hard looking, with a gun strapped low on his hip.
“Huh! Why’d I wanna sell her? Don’t need the money. Soon’s I make my strike, I’m gonna build her a big stable all her own. Good horse, she is. Deserves it! An’ me, I deserve a cold beer!” Hitching up his baggy trousers, he shambled by the man and through the doors of the saloon, where he stopped abruptly, unable to disguise his surprise.
Well, this is not at all what I expected considering the shape of the town!
After a moment of looking around, and being cognizant that he was under scrutiny from every eye in the place, he made his way toward the bar and put a coin down before asking for a beer, quite aware that the barkeep was giving him a fishy glance. Quite likely other desert rats wandered in from time to time and expected a free drink.
He drank the beer with obvious relish, all the while scanning the patrons of the saloon. Jim was not present. What that meant, Artie was unsure. They had not set an exact time for Artie’s old coot to roam into town. Jim could be out talking to other residents about the missing man. However, I’m not too sure how many other folks reside here, considering the number of boarded up buildings. These gentlemen don’t exactly look like farmers and merchants!
He had just drained the glass and was about to ask for a refill when he saw the reflection of the woman descending the stairs. She paused a moment and looked his direction, but seemed to quickly lose interest. I’ll bet she didn’t do that if she spotted Jim! He continued to surreptitiously regard her movements as she strolled among the tables, speaking to the various men, occasionally laughing at some remark.
“Who’s that?” he finally asked the bartender after signaling for another brew.
“That’s Mrs. Devereux. She owns the place.” A freshly filled glass was placed in front of Artie.
“That right? Think she’d be interested in staking a sure thing?”
The man snorted loudly. “Not likely, old man. Not likely.”
Artie displayed umbrage. “Well, it’s a sure thing. She’d be foolish to turn it down.”
The bartender just laughed and moved away. Artie muttered something about fools, took a long swig of his beer, and spotted Jim coming down the stairs. Mrs. Devereux saw him as well, and turned her full attention on him, although she did not move from where she was standing. Jim nodded and smiled slightly in her direction, then passed through the saloon and out the door with barely a glance at Artemus.
Artie did not move, continuing to savor his beer and make remarks to the bartender about a grubstake, remarks that were ignored. Mrs. Devereux glanced his way a time or two but still did not approach him. Her gaze had been directed on the door through which Jim exited for a long moment after that agent’s departure. Artie saw the usual interest women displayed in Jim West in her gaze, but wondered if he did not see more. However, he was unsure what that “more” meant.
“Now that was good stuff for the inner man,” Artie sighed then. “Hey, ain’t there no ho-tell in this town? I’m in need of a night on a real bed.”
“No hotel,” the bartender replied, but did not offer any suggestions.
Artie sighed noisily. “Well, is there a place I can put my horse up?”
“You can use the stable out back. Mrs. Devereux don’t mind.”
Artie pushed himself away from the bar and shuffled out the front door. There he paused and looked around. The man who had been out there was gone. Artie had not seen him come inside. Jim was not in view either. Artie took the time to pull out cigarette makings and carefully roll one, his attention seemingly on his task, but all the while keeping his eyes on his surroundings. He was rewarded when Jim emerged from the general store across and down the street. Jim halted long enough to light a cigarillo, which he apparently had just purchased, then he crossed the dusty street, angling toward the saloon, whereupon he disappeared into the alley alongside the building.
Artie lit his own smoke, enjoyed it for a few moments then tossed it in the street, untying the chestnut from the hitching rack and leading it down the passage on the other side of the building. Jim was just inside, currying the black horse. He glanced at Artie but did not speak. In character, however, as the garrulous desert rat, Artie struck up a conversation.
“You live in this hole of a town, mister?”
“No, just passing through.”
Artie pulled Mesa’s saddle off and threw it aside. “Not much of a town.”
“Doesn’t seem to be.”
“Can’t even find a hotel!”
“Ask in the saloon. They have rooms.”
“Huh! The barkeep didn’t say nothin’ when I asked about a hotel.”
Jim had been looking and listening carefully as they conversed. Now he lowered his voice. “I think we’re alone. I got a room, Artie. And an invitation to dinner… and breakfast.”
“I can guess who made the offer! Learn anything?”
“Not a damn thing. John Gantt claims Ned never showed up. Mrs. Devereux also says she doesn’t recognize the description I gave her. Something very odd is going on here, Artie.”
“You’re telling me. Looks like the only residents are gunslingers. Other than the lawyer.”
“That’s what I noticed. I think there are at least forty or fifty of them here. I recognized a few, and I think they recognized me. Only one approached me. Horse Creech.”
“Yeah? I didn’t see him in there.”
Jim smiled briefly. “He went to get patched up and hasn’t come back I guess. Our lovely hostess, Madalon Devereux, put a stop to further mayhem.”
“Madalon? Is she French?”
“No accent.”
“Hmm. Well, I’ll hang around town for the rest of the day, then might disappear. Occurs to me I could have a problem riding back into town. One fellow paid particular attention to the horse here.” He patted the chestnut’s neck. “I didn’t happen to run across an old mule that I could use instead.”
“I’m wondering if this is a dead end, Artie. Either Ned didn’t make it this far… or it’s as far as he made it.”
“Yeah. And how do we find out, short of locating a grave?”
Jim shook his head. He did not like to consider the idea that something happened to Ned Malone, but he also knew it was all too possible. Biggest question would be why. Ned could have arranged to stay overnight at Mrs. Devereux’s saloon, but why would she have harmed him?
“Artie, I’m going to be hard-pressed to find an excuse to stay in town beyond tonight as well. Why don’t you camp at that grove you spotted? I’ll join you there tomorrow and we can decide our next step.”
“Hmph! While you’re enjoying breakfast in bed!”
Jim grinned. “Breakfast in bed wasn’t mentioned… but who knows?” He sobered then. “I have a notion a man might do well do avoid Mrs. Devereux’s amorous clutches. I have a distinct sense she’s more than just a saloonkeeper.”
“Strikes me that a woman of her looks and tastes—considering the décor in that tavern—could do a lot better elsewhere.”
“My thoughts exactly. Why is she here? Why is Gantt here? The marshal’s office is locked and although I haven’t asked, I’m sure no lawman resides here.”
“All right. I’ll stick around until after supper, then head out. Watch yourself, James. I saw quite a few guns in there.”
“I’ll be a good boy.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Artie grinned as he waved and wandered out of the stable, reassuming the hunched over, shambling gait of the old prospector.
W*W*W*W*W
Jim was seated at a corner table, a glass of tequila in front of him, when he saw John Gantt enter. The attorney glanced around, saw him and nodded, before going to the bar himself. He procured a glass of beer and made his way to Jim’s table. No one else had approached him since the encounter with Horse earlier, not even one of the several women who looked his way with interest more than once.
“Mr. West. Any luck?”
“None. Sit down, Mr. Gantt. Taking time off away from the law books?”
Gantt chuckled. “As you might guess, I have a lot of time on my hands here. Not the busiest metropolis in the world.”
“Makes one curious why a man would leave a prosperous office—in a thriving metropolis—to set up shop here.” Jim picked up his glass and sipped the smooth liquor.
Gantt did not appear to take offense at the somewhat prying question, shaking his head slightly in some bemusement. “A man can make mistakes. Big ones. I decided I did not like Salt Lake City, so different from the rural area in Illinois where I grew up. So I cast around for an area, a town, where a need might exist. Heard about Rattlesnake Wells, and decided to try my lot. Not a good decision, as it turns out.”
“Why remain?”
“Stubbornness? I’m not really sure. I know that if any of the several mines strike it big, the town will boom again—and I’ll be in on the bottom floor.”
“In the meanwhile, you remain on the bottom floor.”
Gantt sighed. “True. Very true. What are you going to do next in regard to your missing colleague?”
“Don't know yet. Get a good night’s sleep for one thing. I’ve been on the trail for several days. Then I guess I’ll try backtracking Malone, checking towns where he might have passed through.” Now Jim shook his head sadly. “It’s possible we may never find him. The Arizona desert is a big place. But I will make sure that the letter is re-sent.”
The lawyer waved a dismissive hand. “That’s the least of my worries. Sad to think a man so young may have lost his life—perhaps to some road agent, if not to an accident.”
“He was a good kid,” Jim said mournfully. “Had the makings of a fine law officer.” Beyond Gantt, Jim saw Madalon Devereux coming down the stairs. She paused just an instant, then headed straight toward his corner table. When Jim started getting to his feet, Gantt looked around and rose as well.
“Sit down, gentlemen. I hope you are enjoying yourselves.”
“You know I always do, Madalon,” Gantt beamed. “Whatever else Rattlesnake Wells lacks, as you may notice, Mr. West, it is not a fine saloon with excellent refreshments.”
“Nor beautiful women,” Jim smiled, sitting down again as she took the vacant chair. “I’m looking forward to our dinner, Mrs. Devereux.” He saw Gantt look at him sharply.
But she smiled warmly. “I put a chicken in the oven, Mr. West. I have a special recipe for roast chicken.”
“Handed down for generations?”
She laughed. “No. Taught to me by my late husband. He was a chef in New Orleans before the war. He also passed on a recipe for dessert… which I’m sure you’ll enjoy.”
“I have no doubt.” Jim allowed his eyes to meet her golden ones, aware that John Gantt was simmering. Hard to believe this pudgy man had any chance with a woman like this, but stranger things had happened. Whether or not it was all a figment of the lawyer’s imagination, he was definitely jealous.
Now she asked the same question Gantt had. “Have you had any luck in finding your missing man?”
“None. As I was just telling Mr. Gantt, I think my next step is to attempt to backtrack him.”
“Sadly,” Gantt put in, “Mr. West acknowledges that they may never know what happened to the young man.”
“That is sad,” she murmured. Jim did not notice any particular sorrow in her eyes, however. Once again, he was unsure what he did see. He thought he had never met a woman so enigmatic. Her face and eyes did not always register her words, and perhaps not even her thoughts.
He decided to push a little harder. “I’ve asked Mr. Gantt what brings him to a town like Rattlesnake Wells…”
“And you’re wondering what I’m doing here.”
“You might say that.”
“Well, look around, Mr. West. Despite the appearance of the town, you can see that I am quite successful. Every table is filled. Every man is drinking. I’m making a good profit.”
“Which raises another question. Where do these men work?”
She shrugged. “I never ask. As long as they pay for their drinks, it doesn’t matter to me where they got it.”
“I can understand that. By the way, where is the nearest ranch or mine? Perhaps I should ride out and ask about my missing friend.”
“The closest ranch is the Culligan place,” Gantt put in, “about twenty miles south, near the border. As for the mines, they are scattered all over the place in the nearby hills.”
“Has valuable ore been found in this area in the past?”
“Some gold, a little silver,” Madalon responded. “Just enough to feed a man or two, not much else.”
“Yet you feel there could be a bigger strike.”
“Geologists say so,” Gantt said.
“Is that right? I saw that old prospector in here earlier. I expect he feels something could be found as well. Those old desert rats can be pretty shrewd.”
“Lafe, the bartender, told me the old fellow was looking for a stake,” Madalon glanced toward the bar where the barkeep was polishing glasses. “Too bad he didn’t ask me. I might be interested.”
“Has he left town? You might still have an opportunity.” This chitchat was interesting Jim. Neither Gantt nor Mrs. Devereux exhibited any signs of concern that a government man was in their midst. That could not exactly be said for many of the men in the saloon, who were definitely on edge, watching and waiting, especially the few that Jim had encountered in the past. Perhaps the mere fact that he had not acknowledged them was even more worrisome to them.
But what in the devil are they all doing here?
“Perhaps I’ll tell Lafe that if the old man comes in again, to send him to see me,” Madalon said thoughtfully. “Might be interesting to get to know him better.”
Something in her manner, something indefinable at the moment, put Jim’s nerves on edge. When he had seen Artie in here previously, Madalon had not gone near him. Had she gotten close enough to spot the disguise? Artie was generally quite expert in creating a new character, but he had been discovered in the past. I’d better try to warn him.
Madalon Devereux left the table moments later, saying she needed to go check her oven, and reminding Jim again of their supper appointment. Jim saw how John Gantt watched her cross the room, where she paused to talk to a trio of men at a table. The lawyer turned to him.
“Mrs. Devereux invited you to dinner, I take it.”
“Yes, she was very kind. Dinner and breakfast.”
Gantt’s lips tightened. “She’s a very good cook.”
“Is she? I take it you’ve partaken of her meals.” Jim kept his voice and expression bland.
“Many times. We are good friends.”
“She’s a beautiful woman. I’m quite surprised she is hiding her light under a barrel, as the saying goes, in a place like Rattlesnake Wells.”
“She’s a great deal like me. Tired of the big city.”
“New Orleans I take it. Do you know how long she’s been here? I’ve spent a good deal of time in New Orleans since the war. Don’t recall ever hearing of a chef named Devereux.”
“Afraid I don’t know the answer to any of those questions, Mr. West. I’ve been here just two years, and Madalon was established prior to my arrival. I have never asked any prying questions.”
Jim pretended he did not comprehend the gibe. “Well, as she pointed out, she’s been successful. It doesn’t hurt, I’m sure, that this is probably the only saloon in a fifty mile radius. And a fine one to boot.”
At that moment, Jim saw the old prospector enter the saloon. Artie looked around then ambled toward the bar. Jim picked up his glass and finished the tequila. “I’m going to get a refill. Can I freshen your drink?”
“Oh, no thank you. I’d better get back to my office. My clerk tends to doze if I’m gone too long. Not that he has much to do otherwise.” Gantt chuckled as he got to his feet. “I just think it looks better if I have an assistant.”
“I see what you mean. Perhaps I’ll see you again before I leave, Mr. Gantt. And again, I’ll make sure a copy of that letter reaches you in due time.”
As Gantt headed out the front door, Jim strolled over to the bar and situated himself alongside Artie, who had just received a beer. The bartender was down at the far end now. Artie lifted his glass to his mouth. “Anything new?”
Jim pretended to scratch his upper lip, covering his mouth with his hand. He could see in the reflection that eyes were still on him. “I’m not sure. Can’t talk now. If Mrs. Devereux approaches you, skedaddle.”
Though curious, Artie did not ask any further questions as the bartender returned and filled a fresh glass for Jim. He knew that his partner would not make such a statement without good reason. Jim turned and walked back to his table. He saw Artie down his drink and then totter out the front door—just as Madalon Devereux started toward him. She stopped and did not attempt to follow him out, turning and going up the stairs.
“Need company?”
The feminine voice startled Jim. He had been so intent on watching Artie and Mrs. Devereux he had not seen the other woman approach his table. She was in her late twenties, with dark hair and a thin but attractive face. “Sit down,” he invited, a bit curious. Prior to now, none of the other women had made an attempt to join him. “Would you like a drink?”
“Thank you. A beer would be nice.”
Jim went to the bar and brought back a glass of the amber brew, placing it on the table before her. “My name’s Jim.”
“I’m Kate.” She lifted her glass to her smiling lips but did not drink. “Please don’t react to what I’m going to say.”
Jim smiled back, placing his elbow on the table and his chin on the heel of his hand. “I’ll try not to.”
Now she did sip the beer, and continued smiling, leaning toward him. “You’re looking for the young man, Ned.”
“That’s right.” He laughed now, and winked at her. “What do you know about him?”
“He was here.” Kate reached over and touched his free hand, which rested on the table. “But I don't know what happened to him. I know he didn’t leave Rattlesnake Wells. His horse was tethered on the street after he disappeared. It may be in the stable now.”
“Anything else you can tell me?” Jim had not paid particular attention to the horses in the stable; next time he would.
“Only that you should leave right away. This is a dangerous place for a man like you… alone.” With a merry laugh, Kate rose, carrying her beer, and moved to join several men engaged in a poker game. Jim watched her for a few moments, smiling slightly, while his thoughts were roiling.
This is bizarre. Why would anyone harm Malone? Unless he saw something he wasn’t supposed to see. That was the only explanation Jim could come up with. That indicated that both John Gantt and Madalon Devereux were lying, not much of a stretch to believe. He already knew something was going on in Rattlesnake Wells. The mere presence of such a large number of known gunmen indicated that. But what?
Leaving his glass of liquor on the table, Jim rose and went to the door, but paused a moment before stepping outside. He saw John Gantt emerge from the alley alongside the saloon, striding toward his office. Well… I’ll wager there’s a back entrance, perhaps a stairway, to the living quarters upstairs, and Mr. Gantt just paid a visit to Mrs. Devereux. That was not unduly surprising. Gantt had not been happy to learn that the saloon owner was going to host the agent for a meal. Whether jealousy was the only element playing into that remained to be seen.
Leaving the saloon, Jim walked down the alley toward the rear himself, glancing idly at the rear of the building and noticing what he had not before, a door. Entering the stable, he made a show of checking on his black horse while noticing that Artie’s chestnut was gone. A chubby, middle-aged man was there mucking out the stalls, but Jim did not ask him about the old prospector. He would have no reason to do so, and he did not know what this stableman might or might not report to his employer. He also did not take any more than a cursory glance at other steeds in the stalls, unable to see Ned’s buckskin gelding in the dimness.
The shadows were long as the sun was lowering, and Jim knew his partner had probably departed to set up camp in the place they agreed upon. He debated momentarily with himself whether to saddle up and ride out after him, but decided that he would have a better chance to learn more if he kept his appointment with the lovely Mrs. Devereux.
W*W*W*W*W
A man who has committed a mistake and doesn't correct it is committing another mistake.
—Confucius (c. 551-478 BC), Chinese philosopher
A man who has committed a mistake and doesn't correct it is committing another mistake.
—Confucius (c. 551-478 BC), Chinese philosopher
Artemus emptied the last dregs of the coffeepot into the still glowing coals, his gaze sweeping over the nearby landscape. No sign of the black horse and its rider. He glanced up to note the position of the sun. Midmorning was approaching. He had thought Jim would head out soon after his morning meal with Mrs. Devereux.
Granted, the lovely lady might offer reasons for dallying, but Artie knew his partner well enough to know that Jim would make his excuses and leave, not overwhelmed by the woman’s beauty or her advances. Not when something as serious as finding Ned was involved.
He had lain awake for a long while last night fretting over the mistake that had been made, even while realizing that had he the opportunity to do it over, he probably would have come to the same decision. Entering Rattlesnake Wells as an old prospector had seemed logical. The town was located in a desert area where some mining had taken place, and might still be going on. When the old sourdough had gone to the stable to saddle his horse, a very friendly man had been there, engaging him in conversation and displaying no suspicion whatsoever that the prospector was not who he appeared to be.
Yet, in retrospect he knew now that a guise as a gunman, or even a down on his luck cowboy would have been better. They had not had any information that would have led them to realize the situation in the town. All had seemed straightforward: Ned Malone disappeared; find him. Nothing had indicated they would enter a nearly deserted town, populated by a horde of gun-bearing men, many of them known outlaws, even if warrants were not currently out for them.
The fact that that one man had paid particular notice to the chestnut exacerbated the problem. It would have been great if I had been able to come up with an old mule, or at least another horse, for the old coot to ride. What kind of excuse could he give for riding the same horse with its distinctive blaze?
Of course I could say I killed the old man for the horse. Artie chuckled aloud, causing the beast in question to lift its head from the small pool created by the spring and look toward him, ears forward, almost as though asking, “what’s so funny?” Artie grinned, stepping over to pat the steed’s neck.
“Don’t worry about it, girl. I don’t plan to kill your master. At least not yet.” With a sigh he looked out in the direction of Rattlesnake Wells again. “James, where the devil are you? If you don’t show up soon, I’m going to have to go into town anyway, damn the horse mix-up.” The idea of saying he had killed for the rights to the horse seemed more and more the way to go.
Even while realizing a return to Rattlesnake Wells was probably necessary, Artemus knew he could make an even more egregious error if he rashly saddled up and rode into town immediately. A very good reason could exist for Jim’s delay in meeting him, something other than the usual, that is, Jim being in peril.
He thought about Jim’s warning to stay away from Mrs. Devereux. Jim appeared to believe that the woman might see through his disguise. Too damn bad we didn’t have more opportunity to talk after that. Artie had gone to the stable, hoping that Jim would follow, but with the stableman there, he had not had much of an excuse to linger any longer than he had, nor even to tarry in town. He had considered breaking into one of the boarded-up stores but the chance of discovery was too strong, especially after dark when he would have had to had some form of illumination, if only a match.
So I need to be patient a while longer and trust that Jim is handling whatever situation has arisen. Perhaps he’s learned something new and is investigating it. I can only hope!