As always, that train of thought led him to the memory of when he’d revisited that house a year or so later. It had been just as he’d described it to Joseph. Actually, it had been worse.
Talking about how bad the silence was when compared to the laughter of those little girls wouldn’t have helped matters. It would have only rekindled the fire in Joseph’s belly. That fire was for Nick alone. He hadn’t told Catherine or anyone else about the Hemphills. It was almost as if he was just as afraid of putting them in danger now as he’d been back then.
Some of the vodka’s burn still lingered in Nick’s mouth, but it wasn’t nearly enough to wash away the bloody memories that had revisited him. All Nick could do was try and move along.
Things would work themselves out.
Letting those words flow through his mind, Nick could almost hear Sue’s voice. Her tone was gentler now—more comforting.
Perro Negro wasn’t as much of a town as it was an overgrown mining camp. Ruts in the ground from the carts led into a wall of rock to the southeast. Old storefronts lined the streets and were marked with faded signs advertising supplies that were no longer needed. The town and that rock formation were now very much alike: battered husks populated by vultures that were too lazy to fly away.
As Nick and Joseph rode through town, the sun was throwing down an orange glow, but it would be night soon. The locals went about their un-seemly business as if they had the full protection of the dark. One man knifed another in one of the abandoned storefronts. Whores pulled down the fronts of their dresses to anyone who looked in their direction. Drunks puked on the warped remains of a boardwalk and then collapsed in their own mess.
“What are we doing in this dung heap?” Joseph asked. “Looking for an outlaw here is like looking for a needle in a haystack.”
“More like one particular piece of hay in a haystack,” Nick corrected.
Joseph shook his head and looked around once more. “Those killers could be anywhere around here. I doubt there’s any law to point us in the right direction.”
Nick laughed and leaned over so he could speak in a whisper. “I wouldn’t even mention law around here. Besides, the men we’re after aren’t here. They would’ve moved on a while ago.”
“Then why are we wasting time?”
“There could still be something around that can help us. We needed to water the horses, anyway, so we’ll just do that here and look around.”
“Any suggestions on where to start?”
Nick rubbed his chin and shifted in his saddle. “I’m not sure. Do you see anyone that looks suspicious?”
Joseph was clearly not amused. “I think you’ve been drinking too much of your father’s liquor.”
“Looks like there’s only two main streets,” Nick said. “You poke around at the saloons on this one and I’ll take the saloons on the other. Say you’re looking for work and ask if anyone is hiring.”
“What kind of work?”
“You were a rancher,” Nick pointed out. “The men we’re after stole your herd and are probably out to sell it. What kind of workers do you think they’d be looking for?”
“Probably brand artists, most likely,” Joseph replied without much hesitation.
“Brand artists?”
“Yeah. They cover up another ranch’s brand or find some way to change it around. It’s easy enough to spot if you know what you’re looking for. Anyway, that’s the sort of talent someone would need if they’re dealing with all those stolen cattle.”
Nick nodded and said, “Learn something new every day.”
“That’s not the answer you were expecting?”
“I wasn’t expecting anything. You’re the rancher, not me. At least now I know what to ask for at those saloons. See what we can accomplish when you’re not stomping around with your dander up?”
“Yeah, sure. What kind of information are we asking about?”
“First of all, it would be good to have a better idea of how many men we’re up against. I could guess, but that won’t get us anywhere. That gang came through here looking to replenish their numbers, so we should try to find out how many took them up on their offer. If there wasn’t many takers, we might be able to ride in on them a bit faster. Also, have you ever heard of San Trista?”
Joseph thought about that for a moment and shook his head. “Never heard of it.”
“It’d be good to know what kind of law they have there, how big the place is, if there’s been any trouble. Some better directions would be nice.”
“Asking that asshole back at his camp would have been a good idea.”
Nick laughed. “That fellow may have been scared, but there’s no way I’d go by any directions he gave. He could barely spit the name out. If he had any sense at all, he would have told us just enough to get us good and far away from him before turning back.”
“I do have a notion as to where the Busted Wheel Ranch is. Some of my men used to talk about it.”
“Can you get us there?”
Joseph started to nod and stopped short. “It could take a while.”
“Then we could use any information on that as well.”
“Not asking for too much, huh?”
Nick shrugged and said, “Keep your ears open about any of it. If we find a few things on one of those subjects, we’re better off than when we started.”
“Got it.”
After checking the battered watch in his pocket, Nick said, “Let’s meet back here in two hours whether we’re done or not.”
“Good. Hopefully we’ll be ready to get the hell out of this hole,” Joseph said distastefully.
“Maybe. This town actually brings back a lot of old memories.”
“Remind me to never ask you about them.”
With that, the men parted ways. Joseph rode toward the closest end of the street and Nick rounded the corner.
When Joseph tied his horse to the post outside the first saloon, he doubted he’d ever see the animal again. He stepped through the swinging doors that were rotting on their hinges and thought he’d pass out from a stench that hit him like a slap in the face.
The place was as much of a saloon as Perro Negro was a town. Fewer than a dozen bottles were kept on a shelf behind a bar tended by one Indian with greasy hair. The bar, itself, was just a pair of long tables set end to end. One of the tables was raised up so it came up to the Indian’s waist. A few small round tables were scattered about, outnumbering the chairs two to one.
The people drinking in there were loud and leaning against one another, since there was nowhere to sit. Joseph walked through them, doing his best not to touch anyone unless there was no other choice. He could see the Indian behind the bar glaring at him well before he made it to the taller of the two tables.
“I was hoping you could tell me—”
“What do you want?” the Indian interrupted.
“I need to know—”
“What to drink?”
“Nothing right now.”
“Then get out.”
Joseph recoiled as if he wasn’t certain he’d heard the Indian correctly.
“Drink or get out,” the Indian told him. “It’s not hard.”
“I’ll have some water.”
The Indian took an empty jar from under the table and then turned around. He held the jar below his waist, fidgeted with his pants, straightened up and let out a slow breath. Soon, the sound of something pouring into the jar could be heard. It was followed by a sharp, bitter smell.
The Indian fidgeted with his pants some more and then turned back around. Wearing a broad, obscene smile, he set the jar on the table and said, “Drink up.”
Joseph looked down at the jar and its pale yellow, slightly foaming, contents. Although he wanted nothing more than to knock that jar of piss straight back at the one who’d made it, he took a second to think. The Indian looked ready to fight. In fact, he looked as if he was already planning on where to dump Joseph’s body.