Dagen shook his head. “We can’t go back there.”
“Why not?” Monroe asked. “They got whiskey, whores, and food there.”
“Fargo killed one of the whores, remember? And he killed the bartender too.”
“Oh, yeah,” Casey said. “Damn, where can we go?”
“How about Providence Wells?” Dagen suggested. “They got whiskey, whores, and food there too. And there ain’t none of us ever been there, so there won’t be nobody there that know us.”
“Yeah, good idea,” Casey said.
The three men mounted. Then Casey looked over at Fargo’s horse.
“What about Fargo’s horse? Should we take him with us?” Casey asked.
“Why?” asked Dagen.
“We can sell ’im.”
“We got enough money, we don’t need to be bothered with tryin’ to sell no damn horse.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be right just to leave him here,” Casey said.
Dagen pulled his pistol and shot Fargo’s horse in the head. The animal dropped without a sound.
“Son of a bitch!” Casey shouted in surprise.
“Now it won’t bother him to stay here,” Dagen said. “Let’s go.”
Falcon saw the vultures first, from at least a mile away. Then, as he drew closer, he saw a large brown form on the ground, and knew that it was a horse.
It looked as if one of the horses had gone down, leaving the outlaws with four men and three horses. Although he felt bad about the horse, he knew it would slow the men down somewhat and make it easier for him to track them.
Something didn’t look quite right when Falcon finally reached the horse. He couldn’t put his finger on what was bothering him ... maybe it was just intuition. Whatever it was, Falcon decided it was worth a closer look, so he dismounted, then walked over to examine the horse. Kneeling beside it, he ran his hand across the legs of the horse, but he couldn’t find any sign of a broken bone.
“What happened here?” he asked aloud. “If you didn’t go down on them, why would they shoot you and leave themselves one horse short?”
Falcon lifted the head, then let it drop. There was still some flexibility in the animal, so it hadn’t been dead long.
Sighing, Falcon stood up, then removed his hat and ran his hand through his hair. Looking around, he saw a set of saddlebags lying open near a boulder. Looking back at the dead horse, he saw the horse had its own saddlebags.
Falcon walked over for a closer look at the saddlebags near the boulder, and when he stuck his hand down inside, he pulled out a little paper band, the kind of paper band that is wrapped around stacks of money. He read the printing on the band.
$100
WESTERN EXPRESS COMPANY
Looking around the area, Falcon saw the opening to a cave. Pulling his pistol, he moved up to one side of the opening, then cautiously looked inside.
That was when he became aware of two things: the overwhelming stench coming from inside the cave, and the fact that Fargo Ford was lying dead on the floor of the cave.
Holstering his pistol, Falcon pulled his knife and went into the cave.
“Two down and three to go,” he said aloud. “You men just keep killing each other off. That makes my job real easy.”
It was after dark when Falcon got to Providence Wells. Dismounting in front of the saloon, he walked along all the horses that were tied to the hitching rail, then saw one that he had seen before. It was one of the horses Pete Tucker had been holding during the botched holdup attempt back in Calabasas. That meant that the men he was looking for were here.
Going inside the saloon, Falcon looked around, but didn’t see anyone he recognized.
“Yes, sir, what will it be?” the bartender asked.
“A beer,” Falcon said. He decided against asking for any specific information, believing he could find out more just by being quiet and observing.
Falcon had just about finished when a girl came down the stairs and stepped up to the bar. One eye was red and swollen.
“Good Lord, girl, what happened to you?” the bartender asked.
“Nothing,” the girl said, putting her hand up to cover the eye.
“Don’t tell me ‘nothing.’ You’ve got as big a shiner there as I’ve ever seen on anyone.”
“He ... he wants a bottle of whiskey,” the girl said, nodding back toward the bar and putting some money on the bar.
“What happened to you? Did that fella hit you?” The bartender reached up to touch the girl’s eye, but she pulled away from him.
“No, please,” she said. “I don’t want any trouble.”
“Honey, it looks to me like you’ve already got it. What’s going on up there? Listen, you want me to go tell him his time is up?” The bartender started toward the end of the bar.
“No, don’t!” she said. “It’s all right, nothing is going on.” She reached out to grab him. “Nothing, honest. Please, don’t start anything. There are three of them.”
That caught Falcon’s attention. “Three of them, you say?” he asked.
“Don’t get me wrong, they aren’t all three with me,” the girl said. “The other two are with other girls.”
“Why are you interested?” the bartender asked. “Do you know these three men?”
“I’m not sure. When did they get into town?”
“No more’n a couple of hours ago,” the bartender said. “At first, we was glad to see ’em ’cause they’re spendin’ money like water. But the drunker they got, the meaner they got, and right now I’d like to see ’em be on their way, money or no money.” Then, to the bar girl, he said, “Honey, you don’t have to go back up there. Not if he’s beating you.”
“It’ll be all right,” the girl insisted, taking the whiskey. “I just don’t want any more trouble, that’s all.”
She started for the stairs, but by the time she reached the bottom step, Dagen, wearing only his trousers and gun belt, appeared at the railing on the upper balcony.
Falcon recognized him at once as one of the men he had seen back in Calabasas, and he turned toward the bar and pulled his hat down. Because Dagen was standing on the landing above, Falcon’s hat had the effect of preventing the outlaw from getting a clear view.
“Hey, you! Bitch!” Dagen called down to the girl. “I sent you down there to get a bottle of whiskey, not to have a quilting bee. You’ve been down there long enough. Get back up here!”
“Mister, she’s already been up there long enough,” the bartender said.
“What do you mean, she’s been up here long enough? I decide when she’s been up here long enough.”
“Well, you know how it is,” the bartender replied, forcing a laugh. “I mean, she is a working girl. There’s other gents in here wantin’ her time too. I can’t let one man just have all her time. Why, how’d it be if you was waitin’ on her right now?”
“Yeah? Well, I ain’t waitin’ on her,” Dagen said. “But I want to be fair about it,” he added with a mirthless smile. He looked down over the floor of the saloon. “Who’s waitin’?” he asked. “Who else wants her?”
The bar girl looked out over the floor, her eyes showing an expression of desperate hope that someone would back up the bartender. There was absolute silence. The other men, who didn’t want any trouble, managed to avoid the girl’s pleading look.
“Well, now, that’s just what I thought,” Dagen said. The smile left his face. “They don’t nobody but me want her, ’cause she’s nothin’ but a worthless slut. Now, you get back up here.”
The girl shut her eyes tightly, squeezing out a tear. She started up the stairs, then stopped. Clenching her hands into fists, she shook her head resolutely.
“No,” she said. “No, I’m not coming back up.”
“What do you mean you ain’t comin’ back up? I paid for you! Do you hear me, girl? I paid for you! You belong to me.”
The girl put her hand down in a dress pocket, then pulled out two crumpled bills.