Turnback Creek (Widowmaker) Read online

Locke revised his opinion of the man. He looked fat and over the hill, but his eyes were intelligent, and he spoke like an educated man—except for the odd cadence.

  “I guess that’s clear enough,” Cooper said. He looked at Locke, and they both stood up.

  “Marshal, you got a rep as a lawman,” Maddox said, “but you, Locke, yours is as a gunman. I don’t want no trouble in my town, you hear? So don’t be startin’ any.”

  “I never start trouble, Marshal,” Locke said, “but I usually finish it.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  Bob Bailey came back into Lucky Lil’s Saloon and sat down with Hoke Benson and Eli Jordan, who were still playing poker for matchsticks. Eddie Rome and Roy Turpin were still sitting together at their table, staring into space over their beers. Several other tables were in use now, and there were a few men standing at the bar. The tables were still covered, and no dealers or girls had appeared yet.

  “What?” Hoke asked.

  “They got a hotel room.”

  “What for?” Eli asked.

  “I wondered that myself,” Bailey said, “so I went to the railroad station and asked after the train.” Both men stopped playing cards and stared at Bailey. “What?”

  “You went and did that on your own?” Eli asked.

  “Without havin’ to be told?” Hoke asked.

  “Why not?” Bailey asked. “I ain’t stupid, you know.” Truth of the matter was, Bailey knew that if he went back to the saloon without checking on the train, Hoke would have sent him to do just that. This way, he figured he saved himself a trip.

  “Okay,” Hoke said. “What did you find out at the station?”

  Bailey told Hoke about the train being late and probably not arriving until tomorrow.

  “What do you think we should do?” he asked after he’d finished explaining.

  “What can we do?” Hoke said. “We got to wait.”

  “Get some matchsticks, Bob,” Eli said. “We’re gonna be here awhile.”

  While Bailey went to the bar to get some more matchsticks and a beer, Hoke got up and walked over to where Rome and Turpin were sitting. He told them about the change of plan.

  “I don’t care if we sit here for days,” Rome said, “as long as that pot of gold is at the end of the rainbow.”

  “What rainbow?” Turpin asked.

  Hoke and Eddie Rome ignored him.

  “You sure you don’t want to hit them now?” Rome asked.

  “They don’t even have the gold yet.”

  Rome shrugged and said, “We hit them, and then we collect the gold from the train.”

  “They gotta have some kind of paper to show the guards on the train,” Hoke said.

  “We grab that, too.”

  “No,” Hoke said. “They already talked to the local law. We’d never pull that off.”

  “Okay,” Rome said. “You’re callin’ the play. We’ll sit here and wait.”

  “You wanna come over and play poker?” Hoke asked.

  “What’s the stakes?” Turpin asked.

  “Matchsticks.”

  “Matchsticks?” Turpin said. “What the hell am I gonna do with matchsticks?”

  “Light cigarettes,” Hoke said.

  “I don’t even smoke.”

  “Okay,” Hoke said. “Forget it.”

  “We’ll be fine over here,” Rome said.

  Hoke nodded and went back to his table.

  Both Rome and Turpin waited for Hoke to reach his table and sit down with his companions before speaking.

  “What are we gonna do?” Turpin asked Rome.

  “We’ll wait.”

  “We still gonna take the gold away from those three?”

  “First chance we get,” Rome said. “It’ll be easy.”

  “And there’ll be a heckuva lot more with just a two-way split,” Turpin said.

  “Yeah,” Rome said, staring at Turpin. “A lot more.”

  And a lot more, he thought, with a one-way split, too.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Locke and Cooper each picked a bench on the railroad platform. The ex-marshal had wanted to go to a saloon, but Locke wanted to keep him away from temptation, so he suggested they go and sit at the station. Cooper rolled two cigarettes and handed one to Locke first.

  “We still got to find somebody to ride to Turnback Creek with the news,” he said. “We’re only gonna find someone for that at the saloon.”

  “Or the livery.”

  Cooper looked at Locke. “I suppose you think I should go to the livery and you should go to the saloon, eh?”

  “Coop—”

  “No, no, that’s okay,” Cooper said. “I understand you feeling that way. I guess I’d feel like that if—”

  “Coop,” Locke said, cutting him off, “I was going to say we’ll go together. We just need some young fella with a horse who wants to make himself a few dollars.”

  “That shouldn’t be too hard.”

  Both men stared off down the tracks, as if trying to will the train into view. It wasn’t working.

  “Tell me, what would you do with this much gold?” the ex-marshal suddenly asked.

  “What?” Locke wasn’t sure he’d heard right.

  “The gold,” Cooper said. “If you had it all, what would you do with it? How would you spend it?”

  “Why are you asking me that?”

  Cooper shrugged. “I’m just making conversation.”

  Instead of answering the question, Locke turned it back on his friend. “What would you do with it, Coop?”

  “I’d buy myself a ranch in Mexico,” Cooper said without hesitation, “and a señorita to go with it. Oh, not a young girl. I’d look silly with a young girl. Maybe a woman of about forty.”

  “It sounds like you’ve given the question a lot of thought, Coop,” Locke said.

  Cooper shrugged and said, “Like I said, I’m just passin’ the time.”

  “Let’s pass it talking about something else,” Locke said.

  “You don’t wanna answer?”

  “I don’t indulge in those kinds of fantasies.”

  “Then answer me this,” Cooper said. “The men who robbed the first payroll, you think they’d stay around to try for the second one?”

  “Why not?” Locke asked. “They’d have to know that Molly had to replace it. And if they hung around town, they’d know how the miners felt. They’d know she was doing more than just replacing the payroll that was stolen. Oh, yeah, I’d hang around.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Cal Nieves opened the door of the general store and let Del Morgan in. Del worked at the livery stable. Cal worked at the general store for the owner, Arthur Koble.

  “Come on in,” Cal said. “Everybody else is here.”

  “Good,” Morgan said. “Where are they?”

  “Back room.”

  The two men crossed the store and entered the back storeroom. There were three more men waiting there. All, like Morgan and Nieves, were in their late twenties. It was because they were close in age that they were friends. They had grown up together, and while the town was prospering with age, they were not. They all had menial jobs around town, like Cal Nieves’s clerking job at the general store.

  “Hello, boys,” Morgan said.

  “Del,” Clete Cloninger said, “what the hell is this about? Why are we meetin’ secretly behind the store here?”

  “Yeah,” Malcolm Turner said. “What gives?”

  The fifth man was Red Sinclair, and he was, as usual, a man of few words. He let people know his mood with a look, and his look was clouded at the moment.

  “Take it easy, fellas,” Morgan said. “Hear me out. Now, we’ve all heard about this payroll that’s comin’ into town on the next train, right?”

  “Right,” Cloninger said. “The Shillstone payroll. So what?”

  “It’s in gold,” Morgan said.

  Turner said, “We know that, too. What the hell does that have to do with us, Del?”

  Morgan looked
at each man in turn and said, “We’re gonna steal it.”

  “We’re gonna what?” Cloninger demanded.

  “Who’s we?” Turner asked. “Who made this decision?”

  “Cal and I have been talkin’ about it,” Morgan said, “and we decided to cut you in.”

  “Well, that’s real nice of you boys,” Cloninger said, “to cut us in on a harebrained scheme that’s bound to get us killed!” He stood up. “Let’s go, Malcolm.”

  As he and Turner stood up, Red Sinclair—the biggest man in the room, by far—stepped in their way.

  “See?” Morgan said. “Red wants to hear the rest.”

  “Well, Red can stay if he likes,” Cloninger said. “We’re leavin’.”

  “I don’t think so, Cletus,” Morgan said. “I think Red wants you and Malcolm to stay and hear the rest.”

  “Get out of my way, Red—” Cloninger started, but he was cut off by Nieves.

  “Oh, what the hell is the harm in hearin’ us out, Clete?” he demanded. “Besides, do you really want to get Red mad?”

  Cloninger looked into the face of the six-foot-six man who was blocking his path.

  “Cletus,” Turner said, “I don’t wanna get Red mad.”

  Cloninger exchanged a glance with Turner, then whipped around and said, “Fine. We’ll listen.”

  “Good,” Morgan said. “Here’s what Cal and I propose …”

  When Morgan was finished with his proposal, Cloninger said, “What about the sheriff?”

  “He’s not gonna be involved.”

  “But Del,” Turner said, “the Widowmaker? And an ex-marshal?”

  “An over-the-hill marshal,” Morgan said. “I heard from someone who passed through Turnback Creek that this ex-lawman, Dale Cooper, is a hopeless drunk.”

  “And what about the Widowmaker?”

  “What about him?” Morgan asked. “I got a look at him today. He’s only one man, and he ain’t that far from bein’ the marshal’s age himself. I tell you boys, we can do this.”

  “How much money is involved?” Turner asked.

  “We’re not real sure,” Morgan said, “but I hear tell Molly Shillstone is bringin’ in more than the miners got comin’, ’cause she don’t want them walkin’ out on her.”

  “It’s a lot of money, Cletus,” Nieves said, “and it’s in gold.”

  “Gonna be heavy,” Turner said.

  “That’s why we’re gonna take their buckboard, too,” Morgan said, “and that’s why we got Red.”

  Cloninger and Turner looked at Sinclair, who was staring straight ahead at Morgan.

  “I think Red is in, boys,” Morgan said. “What about you?”

  “Are we gonna have to k-kill anybody?” Turner asked.

  “They’re just two old men, Malcolm,” Morgan said. “All we probably have to do is show them our guns, and they’ll give us the gold. They ain’t gonna want to die for it.”

  Turner looked at Cloninger.

  “Come on, Malcolm,” Morgan said. “Make up your own mind, for once. Do you want to work in a hardware store all your life?”

  Turner looked at Morgan and then at Nieves.

  “Okay,” he said nervously. “I’m in.”

  “That only leaves you, Cletus,” Morgan said. “What do you say? Do you want to be a rich man?”

  “’Course I do.”

  “You think you’re gonna get rich bein’ a clerk in city hall?”

  Morgan thought about it for a few minutes, then he said, “No, by God, I don’t. I’m in.”

  A huge hand fell onto his shoulder, and when he turned and looked at Red Sinclair, the big man was smiling.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Locke and Cooper left the train station after checking with the clerk to see if he had any further news on the train.

  “Last I heard, they thought they were gonna be able to fix the engine,” said Fred Dooley, the clerk. “She should be here late tomorrow.”

  “Late?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Two more nights in the hotel,” Locke said to Cooper as they walked away from the station.

  “Goddamnit!” Cooper said. “We’re gonna be sittin’ targets if we can’t leave as soon as the gold gets here.”

  “We’ll have to stay up with it all night,” Locke said. “Sleep in the buckboard, and take turns standing watch. We’ll need an enclosed space.”

  “The livery.”

  “Right,” Locke said. “Let’s go over there. Maybe we can rent a space and find a messenger at the same time.”

  When they reached the livery, they found a man mucking out the stalls by himself.

  “Help ya?” He was a large man, heavy through the shoulders and chest, about forty or so. He put the harmless end of his pitchfork on the ground and faced them.

  “My name is Dale Cooper, and this is John Locke,” Cooper started. “We’re here from—”

  “The Shillstone mine,” the man said. “You’re here to pick up the payroll from the train, right?”

  “Does everyone know about the payroll?” Locke asked.

  “Just about,” the man said. “My name’s Ed Milty. What can I do for you fellas?”

  “We need two things,” Locke said, and went on to explain just what they were.

  “Well, you can rent the whole place overnight if you want,” Milty said. “I’d be closed anyway. As for the messenger, my boy can do it.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “You trust him to ride to Turnback Creek?” Locke asked.

  “He’s done it before,” Milty said. “He’s a good kid, responsible. You can trust him to deliver your message.”

  “What’s his name?” Cooper asked.

  “Frank.”

  “We’re at the Gold Nugget Hotel,” Locke said. “Have him come over there. We’ll be sitting out front.”

  “You got it,” Milty said. “He’ll be over in about ten minutes.”

  “Now,” Locke said, “about the cost of renting this place for the night …”

  Frank Milty turned out to be a big sixteen-year-old who, when he filled out, would obviously be built like his father. By the time he got to the hotel, where Locke and Cooper were sitting out front, they had written out a note for him to deliver.

  “Do you know where the Shillstone mine office is?” Locke asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Deliver this to a man named George Crowell, and wait for an answer,” Cooper said, handing the boy the note.

  “Don’t fool around over there, boy,” Locke said. “Come right back, and there’s another two dollars in it for you.” Locke handed the boy two dollars.

  “Yes, sir!”

  The boy went running off to get his horse.

  “Two dollars?” Cooper asked. “I was gonna give him two bits.”

  “I’m a bigger spender than you are.”

  “Obviously.”

  Locke took his hat, smoothed his hair back, and replaced the hat. He sat back in his chair so that the back was against the wall and the front legs were just up off the boardwalk.

  “So, what do we do now?” Cooper asked.

  “We wait.”

  “Be easier to wait with a drink.”

  “Just one?”

  Cooper rubbed his face vigorously. “No,” he said. “One wouldn’t do it.”

  “There must be some other way to occupy your time in this town,” Locke said.

  “Like what?”

  “Is whiskey the only thing you like?” Locke asked. “What about women?”

  “At my age?”

  “Jesus,” Locke said. “You’re not dead, Coop. Go over to the local cathouse, pick out a young pretty whore, and see what you can do.”

  Cooper sat there for a few moments, thinking it over, then said, “Goddamnit, you’re right. Why not? I’ll do it.” He stood up. “You comin’ along?”

  “I’m happy just sitting right here and relaxing,” Locke said. “This might be the last ch
ance I get.”

  “I’ll be back,” Cooper said, “hopefully later than sooner.”

  Locke hoped it would be later, too.

  THIRTY

  Pretty Polly’s was the local whorehouse. Polly Kennelly ran it, and she was anything but. In her younger days, she had been very pretty, but those days were gone. She was thirty years and sixty pounds from ever being Pretty Polly again.

  She had some pretty girls in her house, though, all shapes and sizes and colors.

  “What’s your pleasure?” she asked Bob Bailey. He’d decided to while away some time with a whore, since the train wasn’t going to be coming in for a day or so. Playing poker for matchsticks wasn’t his idea of a good time.

  “Black?” Polly asked. “Yellow? Skinny, fat? I got ’em all. You won’t find a better selection of girls at the best whorehouse in San Francisco.”

  Bailey didn’t know about that. He’d never been to San Francisco, but he hoped to get there after they grabbed this second payroll.

  The girls were lined up in front of him, and he spotted one he liked. He’d never been with a Chinese gal before. This one was petite, but he could see the dark circles of her nipples through the filmy nightie she was wearing.

  “The Chinee,” he said.

  “Ah, good choice,” Polly said. “That’s Lotus. She knows things none of the other girls know. Brought them over with her from the Orient.”

  Bailey didn’t care where she came from.

  “Lotus, would you take the nice gentleman up to your room, and please show him a good time?”

  The girl approached him and took his hand in her tiny one. She barely came to his shoulder, and when she smiled up at him, he felt it in his loins.

  “You come,” she said, tugging his hand. “I make you vellee hoppy.”

  Polly watched them go up the stairs. She knew that the phony accent Lotus used got to a lot of men, and this one seemed no different.

  Twenty minutes later, Dale Cooper walked in, and Polly greeted him with the same patter.

  Black?

  Yellow?

  Fat?

  Skinny?

  Blond?

  Brunet?

  Young?