The Vengeance Seeker 3 Page 3

  The boy, light-skinned, with dark eyes and freckles, lifted his face to Wolf and stuck out his hand. “Much obliged, Mr. Caulder.”

  Wolf nodded to the boy and then looked down at the wheel. “You’ll need a water hole to soak it in,” he said.

  “That’s what I figured,” Tyler said.

  Wolf looked around. “There should be one further down. I saw a clump of cottonwoods south of here, in line with the creek bed.”

  Tyler said nothing. He looked at his team of horses. He would have to unhitch one of the horses and ride it bareback to the cottonwoods, carrying the wooden wheel and the iron rim. Then he would have to knock the tire back onto the wooden rim and soak the wheel in the water until the wood swelled enough to lock the tire back on.

  “No need to unhitch the horses,” said Wolf. He turned back to his horse and swung into his saddle. “Hand me the wheel and the rim.” Then he looked down at Bobby. “Swing up behind me, Bobby. I think I’ll need a hand when we get to some water.” The boy was pleased that Wolf was asking for his help, and with him carrying the iron rim and Wolf resting the heavier wooden wheel in front of him just behind the pommel of his saddle, they set off.

  They found a fresh spring in a cottonwood grove close to three miles further south and arrived back at the wagon just before sundown and immediately set to work putting the wheel back on. When the job was done, Tyler insisted that they make camp where they were and invited Wolf to sup with them.

  Later, as the cool night sky darkened over them and the campfire spread light as well as warmth, Wolf watched the man put his boy to bed in the wagon and then visited with Tyler. He was anxious to move on to Landusky, but he did not wish to offend the man.

  Over his second cup of coffee, Tyler said, “You’ve been a real help, Caulder. Sure do appreciate it.”

  “Glad to be of help. You’ll be all right now, so guess I’ll be moving on.”

  “Landusky ?”

  Wolf nodded.

  “Not much of a place, not much at all—now the mine’s played out. I’m going through it and beyond, to the Deer River Basin country. I’ve kin there already, and they’ve picked out my quarter section.”

  “For just the two of you?”

  Tyler glanced at Wolf. “I’m hoping to find my daughter somewhere hereabouts, Caulder. The last letter I got from her—and that was four years ago—came from Landusky. The son of a bitch she’d run off with had deserted her when the mine played out.”

  “Four years ago? That’s a long time in these parts.”

  Tyler nodded grimly and stared into the flames.

  “I know. But one of those kin of mine, my sister’s husband, said he saw her in Landusky a year ago. Just caught a glimpse of her in the street, he said. So it looks like she may still be in these parts.”

  “What did you say her name was, Tyler?”

  “Mary. Her name’s Mary. After her mother.”

  Wolf finished his coffee and stood up. “I wish you luck finding her, Tyler,” he told the man. “But I’ve got to be moving on.”

  Dan Tyler stood up and shook Wolf’s hand a second time. Wolf had liked the man—and his boy—instantly. Neither had seemed to notice Wolf’s appearance. That is, they had accepted it at once and without question—the mark of instinctive good manners. Wolf hoped the man would not experience any more bad luck. He seemed to have already had a gut full.

  Wolf saddled up and rode out, waving once to the man standing by the fire. Then he spurred his black toward the towering Absarokas looming into the night sky and the faint lights of Landusky at their feet.

  Tinsdale found the Dawson brothers finally. They were in The Miner’s Palace, a saloon they had bought—the biggest and gaudiest drinking and gambling establishment in Landusky. Only they weren’t the Dawson brothers any more. Luke was calling himself Tom, while Abe was now Jim. And they were both going by the name of Sayles. The brothers were sitting now with Tinsdale at a table in a corner of The Palace. Luke had brought over from the bar a bottle of the best whiskey he could find for Tinsdale.

  Tinsdale grabbed the drink Luke poured him and downed it in one gulp. He had just come from the local sawbones who had done a miserable job of patching his shoulder. It was infected, the Doc had told him—and whiskey poured into the wound had been his remedy since there was no bullet to remove. The shoulder still sang.

  “How did you find us?” Luke wanted to know.

  “I heard you talking. At the trial.”

  As he said this, Tinsdale caught Luke flashing an angry glance across the table at his brother.

  “No sense in blaming him,” Tinsdale said, with a quick smirk. “Neither of you guys knew I was close enough to hear what you was saying. But I kept ears open on purpose—case I needed help when the time came.”

  “And you need help now?” Abe asked.

  “You bet I do.”

  “We heard you broke out, but we didn’t hear nothing about you being shot,” said Luke.

  “I didn’t break out,” said Tinsdale, leaning back as he spoke to wait for their reaction.

  Luke said, “What did you say, man?”

  “I said I didn’t break out. I was sprung.”

  “Who did it? Kid Curry?”

  “Nope. But he’s someone you all should remember.”

  “Jesus Christ, Red!” barked Luke. “Speak plain! Out with it! Who was it sprung you?”

  “Caulder. Wolf Caulder.”

  “Wolf Caulder?”

  “He’s the gent Weed worked over along with those others when we robbed the Tipton train. A big long drink of water with an ugly face and an eye patch over his right eye. I was right behind Charlie Hanks when Hanks kicked the fellow unconscious when we was leaving the train. I remember that much. He don’t have a face you forget so easy.”

  “Why in tarnation would this man Caulder spring you, Tinsdale?”

  Tinsdale leaned forward, and then looked from one to the other. “To kill me, that’s why.”

  When they demanded an explanation, Tinsdale told them of the hidden canyon, the cabin—and Kid Curry’s grave. After he told them of his escape, they regarded him with sudden respect, he noticed.

  “How bad did you hurt Caulder with that shovel?” Abe asked.

  “I couldn’t tell. I was too busy running. It raised hell with his aim, though—and he wasn’t able to follow me.”

  “You sure of that?”

  Tinsdale looked with sudden reproach at Abe. “Of course I am, Abe. You don’t think I’d lead him here, do you?”

  “Not if you could help it, I don’t.”

  Tinsdale looked at Luke. Luke had always been the one he could count on for help. “I need a place to hole up, Luke—while this here shoulder of mine mends. That’s all. Then I’ll be on my way.”

  Luke poured Tinsdale another shot of whiskey. “We own the hotel next door,” he said smiling. “And the general store next to that. Pick out a room at the hotel and don’t worry none about the expense. We’ll have meals sent up.”

  Tinsdale downed the whiskey.

  “We’ll take care of you, Red,” said Abe. “But after this we don’t want you talking to us. And when you get that shoulder back in working order, ride out of Landusky and don’t you ever ride back. Luke and me, we don’t never want to be reminded of that damn train robbery again. We got what money we needed to buy this, and now we got ourselves a new name—and we want to keep it that way.”

  “We don’t want the stink of that business to follow us here, Red,” Luke said, a little more kindly.

  Tinsdale nodded gloomily. He understood—perfectly. Maybe he had better change his name as well. He felt tired all of a sudden. Not drunk. Tired. He started to get up.

  “You said Kid Curry was dead?” Luke asked.

  Tinsdale relaxed back into his seat. “I saw his grave.”

  “It’s a fact he ain’t been seen nowhere since the trial,” Abe said, “but that could have been just a pile of new dirt with nothing under it. He might have
been just trying to scare you, Red—to get you to talk.”

  “I told him all lies. Honest. I even told him Charlie Hanks and his wife were back in Texas.”

  “How the hell do you know they didn’t go back to Texas?” Abe rasped suddenly.

  Tinsdale cursed himself for letting that slip. He shrugged. “I was just ... guessing is all.”

  “Like hell you were. You know they’re up here too.”

  Tinsdale pushed himself to his feet. “I’m tired,” he said. “I had a long ride today. I think I’d like that hotel room you promised me, Luke.”

  “Sure, Red.” Luke pushed his heavy figure up out of the chair. “Follow me.”

  Tinsdale could feel Abe’s eyes on him as he followed Luke out of the saloon. It was not a comfortable feeling.

  Where Luke was already settling into the life of a businessman and putting on weight, jowls and a gut that was already beginning to fold over his belt, Abe was still as lean as a sapling—a nervous, restless sapling who had turned to gambling—constant gambling—as a way to relieve the tension of inactivity. This did not mean that Abe wanted to get back into the train robbing business. Weed’s incredible ruthlessness during their last robbery had turned the entire country against them and it had taken almost ten thousand dollars to save them from its consequences. The James’ boys were heroes, but not the Dawson gang. Shaking his head, Abe poured himself a drink.

  Well, that was all behind them now—unless Red Tinsdale was allowed to ride out of this place. Even if he hadn’t led that wild fellow he had told them about to this place, he would eventually lead others—every time he needed someone to wipe his nose.

  He was about to pour himself another drink when a silent shadow materialized out of the gloom behind his back and sat down at the table beside him. Abe nodded gloomily at the man.

  He was shorter than Abe by at least a foot, his features lean, with a raw, scraped cleanliness that seemed unnatural. He had the pallor of death in his face and his eyes were rimmed with red and burned with a smoldering intensity.

  “Did you see him, Weed?” Abe asked.

  “I was watching him from the other side of the room. He looked at me a couple of times.” He smiled wolfishly. “But he didn’t recognize old Weed.”

  “Without that damn beard, you ain’t Weed Leeper.”

  Leeper rubbed his right palm over his smooth chin unhappily. “I don’t like it,” he said. “I was partial to all that hair. Was a real comfort, not having to shave. My face is still raw from this morning.”

  “You got other problems besides.”

  Weed looked at Abe attentively. Abe told him what Tinsdale had related to them about the man Tinsdale called Wolf Caulder. When Abe had finished, Weed leaned back and smiled bleakly.

  “See that?” he said. “If I’d a had the time to kill Caulder and that drummer, we’d all be a helluva lot richer, and we wouldn’t have to be hiding out up here.”

  “Well, you didn’t, Weed. When you’re going to handle things like that, you got to go all the way. You didn’t.”

  “That son of a bitch Caulder had me around the throat!”

  Luke smiled sardonically at Weed. “Well ... he might be out there somewhere right now—looking for you.”

  “And you.”

  “That’s right. And me. But right now, Tinsdale’s our problem. As long as he knows where we are ...”

  Weed nodded. He understood perfectly. Looking coldly at Abe, he said, “He don’t know about me. And nobody else does, ’cept you and Luke. I’m expecting you to keep that secret to yourselves. You do understand that, don’t you, Abe?”

  “Sure. Sure. You don’t have to keep telling us that, Weed.” He grinned suddenly at the man. “How’s the girl turning out?”

  “A hell cat,” Weed said appreciatively. “But she’ll calm down. Not too much, I hope. I like it when they don’t like it.”

  Abe felt himself shuddering involuntarily and hoped that Weed did not notice. He said, “So why don’t you take care of Tinsdale, while you’re in town.”

  Weed smiled, his yellow, broken teeth giving him a suddenly terrible aspect. “You don’t like Weed when he does bad things, do you, Abe? But you like to have him around to clean up the messes you find yourself in. All right. I’ll take care of Tinsdale. I never liked that whelp, anyway. But this is it. I’m staying out there after this. I’ve got me a woman who’ll make a pretty fine squaw when I get her broke. There’s good fish in the stream and beaver and plenty of hunting to do. And I’ll let my hair grow again. The hell with this place. The hell with people. They ain’t none of ’em any damn good, as far as I can see.”

  The man’s quiet, but bitter tirade—his seeming loathing for all things human—filled Abe with a deep, shuddering sense of unease. He would be glad to see Weed gone and lost in that hidden place of his.

  “Just one thing, Weed,” Abe said. “Do it as quiet as you can.”

  “Sure. I’ll do it quiet.” He pulled toward him the bottle of whiskey Tinsdale had been drinking out of while he sat at the table. “I saw the kid swilling this stuff pretty damn fast. He’s got himself a thirst, it looks like.”

  “His shoulder. It’s giving him the miseries.”

  “You got any rat poison? Arsenic?”

  Abe was startled. The idea was so simple. “Luke’s got some out back he’s been using on the rats in the hotel cellar.”

  “Go get some from Luke then. A couple of shot glasses full should do it. Then bring it here. I’ll go visit Red later, offer him a drink. Compliments of the house.”

  He smiled his broken, yellow smile. Abe swallowed and nodded, getting to his feet. As he left the table, he saw Weed pouring himself a stiff shot out of the same bottle he proposed offering Tinsdale.

  Tinsdale struggled out of his nightmare and opened his eyes. It looked like he was back in his hotel room, and the street sounds from under the window were reassuring; but he couldn’t be sure he wasn’t still trapped in that dream, still being pursued by that tall horseman with the one eye.

  And then the knock came again, and he realized that he was now fully awake and that it had been an earlier knock a moment before that had awakened him. With an overwhelming sense of relief, he swung his feet off the bed and walked to the door.

  Sudden caution made him pause before it, however. “Who is it?” he asked, surprised at the rawness in his voice.

  “Luke sent me up,” a muffled voice replied. “Got a bottle for you.”

  The voice was vaguely familiar and the news of the bottle was enough. If there was one thing he needed right now, it was a drink. He opened the door and stepped back.

  The man who entered was—like the voice—not entirely unfamiliar; he was a slightly built man with raw, lean, cavernous cheeks, while the rest of his face was a deathly pale. But it was the man’s eyes that alerted Tinsdale. As the fellow stepped inside and turned to face him, Tinsdale said, his voice hushed: “That you, Weed?”

  Weed laughed and slapped the bottle of whiskey and the glass he had brought with him down onto the dusty dresser. “Guess I ain’t about to fool you, kid!” he said. “No, sir!”

  Tinsdale walked quickly over and took up the bottle and the glass and brought them back to the bed and placed them on the small night table beside it. “Couldn’t forget you, Weed,” he said, pouring himself a healthy dollop into the glass.

  He tossed the raw whiskey down quickly, made a face, and looked over at his visitor. Weed looked positively unpleasant without his thick growth of whiskers. His eyes still burned out of sunken hollows and he still moved like an animal that wasn’t accustomed to being caught in the daylight.

  Tinsdale made no effort to share the whiskey. It was the bottle, he noticed, that Luke had brought over to him from the bar—and it sure as hell burned on its way down. He poured himself another slug and sat down on the edge of the bed. The whiskey should have helped, but it didn’t seem to be doing that.

  “I suppose,” he told Weed, “that you want to hear ab
out that one-eyed galoot who sprung me. He’s after you too, Weed.”

  “Being after me is one thing. Catching me is something else again. You couldn’t have told him where I was. You never knew.”

  “You’re in with Luke and Abe. In this place.”

  “Shit! In this town? This place is dying. It stinks of people.” Weed glanced out the window at the dark heft of the mountain leaning over the town. “I got me a place up there—inside the Indian River Range—all tucked away. Away from the stench of people.”

  “That’s right, Weed,” Tinsdale said, swallowing the whiskey. “After a job you always did like to go off by yourself into the Jackson Hole Country.” He grinned foolishly at Weed. “What did you do, crawl back into one of the holes?”

  Weed walked closer, lifted the whiskey bottle and looked at it.

  Tinsdale took it from him. “I’m keeping it all, Weed. It’s still half full. I need it worse than you do. I got the miseries.”

  “You can have it, kid,” Weed said. He smiled then. “Yep, you got the miseries, all right.”

  He pulled over a chair, turned it around and sat astride it, leaning on crossed arms resting on the back. His eyes watched Tinsdale carefully. Tinsdale felt the eyes on him and poured himself another drink.

  He was really beginning to feel rotten. He was getting a fierce headache and the room seemed to be moving under him. Glancing over at the window, he was surprised to see that it was not open. He was feeling chilly—or rather feverish. Deciding on another drink, he noticed that his hand shook a little as he poured.

  He was getting drunk, all right. Really soused. But his goddamn shoulder still hurt. There was a funny taste in his mouth. He finished pouring the whiskey into the glass, filling it to the brim. He put down the bottle and held the glass with both hands. This would really knock him out, he realized. Put him to sleep. But a sudden cramp in his abdomen caused him to double up and he almost dropped the glass.