Dooley eyed him up and down and spit again.
“How long does anybody wait for a man bringing them a half million dollars in smelted gold?” he asked.
“Just about as long as we already have,” Lyle Myers said.
To his right, Eli March, the elderly gunman who’d taken the flask, drank from it and passed it along to the next man.
“He’s not just a bartender,” March said in an irritated voice. “Sumbitch owns a saloon, a hotel and a whorehouse. Not to mention a string of houses and dirt holdings.” He wiped a hand across his lips. “Bartender, your ass,” he grumbled through a scraggly gray beard.
“Excuse the hell out of me, then,” Meyers said, taking off his black high-crowned range hat in a sweeping gesture. “Andrew Grolin is not just a bartender. He’s a bartender, a desk clerk and a pimp.” He stared at March. “Does that suit you any better, old man?”
“I hate unfactual jawing, is all,” Eli March said in the same abrasive tone. “You call a horse a chicken long enough, pretty soon folks think they heard him cluck.”
“Unfactual jawing…?” said Myers. His hand pushedhis plaid wool great coat back enough to rest easily on the black handle of a Colt holstered on his hip.
March seemed unmoved by Myers’ threat.
“You heard me right,” he said. “The longer I wait here, the less I like hearing it.” He nodded at Myers’ gun hand. “If you think that move scared me any, you chose the wrong place to be this morning.”
Meyers thought about it, but decided to let it go. He chuffed and shook his head and looked away. His hand moved away from his gun. “You can’t put a bunch like us together for long, expect things to stay friendly—somebody not kill somebody.”
“It’s only natural,” said a gunman named Lou “the Dog” Duggins. “Where I’m from, it’s all but destroyed the whole notion of family reunions.” He capped the silver flask and pitched it back to Meyers. “And I think it’s a damn shame,” he added.
“Riders coming,” Heaton Swank called back to the others from where he’d sat his horse closer to the trail.
“It’s about damned time,” said Dooley, perking up in his saddle.
“No wagon, though,” Swank called out.
“Damn!” said Dooley. He slumped, recrossed his wrists on his saddle horn.
“A horse packing wooden gold crates,” Swank called back to them. “Get everybody up here, Dooley.”
“Now you’re talking, Swank,” said Dooley, straightening himself again. He grinned. “Come on, fellows. Let’s go oversee this gold transaction, like we’re paid to do.”
He booted his horse and galloped forward. The others rode along behind him. When they got to Heaton Swank, the big gunman fell in beside Dooley.
“Keep a close eye on Andrew Grolin and his men,” Swank said as they galloped on along the trail. “He’s been known to show up at a swap like this and leave with everything in his pocket.”
“Not today, he won’t,” said Dooley, riding close beside him.
A hundred yards up the trail, Grolin slowed his horse and veered off the trail into the trees as he saw the riders come riding toward him and his men. When Swank and his men arrived and followed the same path, they found a dazed Bobby Kane in a small clearing holding the reins to the big Belgium. Grolin, Spiller and Penta had spread into a half circle around the edge on the clearing, rifles in hand. Grolin spoke from behind the cover of a thick pine.
“That’s close enough, Swank,” he called out. “Have you got our money?”
“I’ve got your money, Grolin,” Swank said, his men also spreading out around the clearing, staying atop their horses. “Have you got the gold?” As he asked, he looked curiously at the Belgium carrying the six wooden crates. He noted the stuffed saddlebags behind Grolin and his two gunmen.
“I’ve got it,” Grolin said. He gestured toward the big Belgium.
Swank and Dooley gave each other a look. Dooley shook his head slowly.
“I was told twenty-four crates of gold ingots, around a half million in gold,” Swank said across the small clearing. “Has my arithmetic taken a bad turn, or am I only counting six?”
“There’s six crates here,” Grolin said. “We’ve got another crate and a half in our saddlebags.”
“There again,” Swank pointed out, “seven and a half crates sounds a lot shorter than twenty-four.”
“I had a couple of men try to double-cross me,” Grolin said. “We lost a lot of the gold along the trail. But we’ve managed to get this much to you. I’ll get you the rest in a day or two. You’ve got my word.”
“Your word…” Swank shook his head and stepped his horse forward, looking the Belgium up and down, casting a glance at the bleary-eyed Bobby Kane, holding its reins.
“What happened to this one?” he asked, noting Kane’s swollen face.
“The Giant backhanded him,” Grolin said.
“Jesus,” Swank mused. “No wonder he looks like he’s forgot his way home.”
“What do you say, Swank?” said Grolin. “You want us to drop these crates and start counting?”
“‘This much’ don’t cut it, Grolin,” Swank said, stopping his horse and staring down at where Grolin stood close to the big pine. “My investors can buy this much gold for seventy-five cents on the dollar any day of the week. It takes a half million or better to make it worth their time.” He gave him a tight smile. “They’re big cats, these fellows of mine.”
Grolin let out a breath and gripped his rifle a little tighter.
“All right, let’s hear it,” he said.
Swank looked over the six crates again appraisingly.
“This much gold, we’re talking thirty-five cents to the note,” he said firmly.
“And when we bring you rest?” he asked.
“The rest means another trip for us. We’re still talking thirty-five cents—”
“Forget it,” said Grolin, cutting him off. “We’ll split it among ourselves and cash it as we go. Right, fellows?” he called out to the others, as a reminder to Swank that there were rifles aimed at him and his men.
“Damned right,” said Spiller. “We’re not giving it away.”
“Not without a fight,” said Penta in a threatening tone.
After a tense pause Grolin said, “There you have it, Swank. We’re all—”
“So do I,” Bobby Kane cut in mindlessly, as if just catching up to the conversation.
Grolin and Swank looked at the witless gunman, then back at each other.
“Believe it or not, Grolin,” Swank said, “we’re not out to rob you. But I meant what I said. The people I’m turning this for would get real ugly if I came back to them with a small amount of gold for seventy-five cents on the dollar.”
“Then you’ve made this trip for nothing,” said Grolin, “and I’ll bid you good day.”
“Adios,” said Swank, touching his hat brim and backing his horse to turn it.
Damn it.… Grolin watched as the horsemen started backing away, behind Swank, their rifles still at the ready.
“Wait,” he called out to Swank, “I’ve got a proposition for you.”
Swank turned his horse back to Grolin; his men moved back into position.
“I’ve got to get a wagon to haul the rest of the gold in,” Grolin said. “If you can give me a day, stall your men and still pay our original price, we’ll cut you a share right off the top. Right, fellows?” he said to Spiller and Penta.
“It’s right with me,” said Penta.
“Me too,” said Spiller.
Grolin and Swank both looked expectantly at Bobby Kane, who sat with his mouth slightly agape. Bobby made no reply.