"That's enough," he said when Murph started in again a few minutes later about leaving some of the cash behind in the vault. "You know the way we do things, Murph. If you don't like 'em, you're free to leave. I never forced a man to ride with me, and I don't intend to start now."
"Never said I wanted to leave," Murph groused. "I just don't see any point in losin' out on an extra five hundred bucks a man."
Big Boy shoved a bottle in Murph's hand. "Here. Have a drink and quit your bitchin', why don't you? I don't know about you, but I feel downright rich."
So did I. I couldn't remember ever having two thousand dollars in my pocket before. It seemed like just about all the money in the world.
Wanting to keep peace in the gang, Roy came up with an idea that I figured was aimed mainly at making Murph happy. He leaned forward, and I saw him grin in the moonlight. "Why don't we pay a visit to Harrigan's place?" he suggested.
That brought a grunt from Murph, but when he spoke he sounded happily surprised. "That's a damned good idea," he said.
One of the Gundersons asked, "Vat is this Harrigan's?"
Big Boy laughed and gave him a friendly little slap on the shoulder, which nearly knocked the big Swede off the log where he was sitting. "You'll see," Big Boy said, "and you'll be mighty pleased when you do."
CHAPTER TWO
We had a regular hideout in the mountains, an old stone house that had probably been built by some rancher fifty or sixty years earlier. Something had happened to make him abandon it, though, and it had been deserted for a long time. The roof had fallen in, but the walls were still standing.
And thick walls they were too, which was what had attracted Roy to the place. The old house was the closest thing to a fort you could find in the mountains, and if ever a posse tracked us there, they'd have a tough time trying to root us out as long as our food and water and cartridges lasted.
Not a one of us thought much about dying in those days, unless it was Roy and Big Boy, because they were older. Jace and Aaron and me, we were young bucks and likely thought we would live forever, if we thought about it at all. But there was always a chance our luck would run out and we'd wind up on the wrong end of a bullet. It was just part of the game.
A couple of days after robbing the bank in Flat Rock, we reached the hideout, riding single file through the twisting, sheer-walled slash in the rock that was the only way in and out of the high mountain valley where the old stone house was located. This was our Hole in the Wall, and while it was never as famous as the one the Wild Bunch used, we were all proud of it.
We didn't stay long, though. Everybody was anxious to get to Harrigan's. We hadn't kept the Gundersons in suspense; it would have been downright cruel not to tell those Swedish boys about all the good things they had to look forward to.
Harrigan was a failed rancher too, but unlike the fella who had built our hideout, he had done something to salvage the situation. He'd turned his place into a whorehouse.
We left the hideout after stashing a little of the loot there, and spent a day riding down out of the mountains into a greener, more gentle land. Harrigan's ranch house sat on top of a small hill surrounded by pines. It was a sprawling, two-story place built of logs. To one side was a big, open-fronted barn where visitors could leave their mounts if they came in on horseback. Sometimes Model A's were parked there too, because there was a road leading south from Harrigan's that connected up with the highway between Elko and Reno, and Harrigan regularly got folks coming up there from the cities too. His whores were young and pretty and his whiskey wasn't watered-down and his poker games were honest, and what more could you ask for in those days?
I'd only been there once, but that had been enough to make me look forward to another visit. I'd gone upstairs with a redhead named Becky, and she'd managed to seem totally innocent while showing me some of the dangedest tricks you ever did see. I wanted to spend some more time with her. I sure hoped she was still working there.
A few cars were parked in the open area in front of the barn when we rode up. A Mex who worked for Harrigan came out of the barn and took our horses, promising to look after them special-like. Being from Texas, I spoke a little of his lingo, and I said, "Muchas gracias,'' and flipped him a silver dollar.
Murph leaned his head toward the cars as we walked past them and said to Roy, "You reckon any of the folks who came up here in those are lookin' for us?"
"Not very likely. It's been almost a week since we were in Flat Rock," Roy said. "Besides, Harrigan's got a deal with the law. They don't come up here."
That was another good thing about the place. Harrigan greased enough palms so that the authorities left him alone. Of course, he could afford to, because he knew his customers weren't the sort to balk at the high prices he charged for everything he had to offer.
He met us at the door, a big man bald as a cue ball. I never saw him when he didn't have a suit and tie on, and he didn't look anything like a rancher. I doubt if the way he looked had anything to do with the fact that he had been a piss-poor cattleman, but maybe it had. All I knew was that he was damned good at running a whorehouse.
"Hello, boys," he said as he pumped Roy's hand. He shook with each of us as we trooped into the big, high-ceilinged main room. It was furnished mighty fancy, with soft rugs on the floor and heavy furniture scattered around. Some old rifles were hung on the walls, along with a couple of moose heads, and a huge stone fireplace took up nearly one whole wall. A long mahogany bar sat on the other side of the room. In between were tables for the games of chance and the drinking. Stairs in the back of the room led up to the second floor, where the girls who were circulating through the room did their real work.
Not counting us, I could see twelve men in the room: Harrigan, the bartender working behind the bar, and ten men sitting at the tables. Of those ten customers, six of them were drinking and laughing and talking with some of Harrigan's girls. The other four were all sitting together at one table, playing cards. Three of them were wearing range clothes, like us, and the fourth cardplayer sported a pinstriped suit and a derby hat.
Some of the whores were wearing silk dressing gowns, while the others had lacy getups that left them more bare than not. My eyes went right away to one of them with plenty of reddish-orange hair and fair skin dotted with freckles. I could see a lot of that skin because she wasn't wearing anything except some frilly black step-ins and a band of black silk around her breasts. She saw me too, and let out a squeal as she jumped off the lap of the man who had been cuddling her and ran over to me. I just had time to see that the gent who'd been deserted didn't look too happy about the state of affairs, and then Becky was grabbing onto me and practically jumping up into my arms like a puppy. She damned near knocked me over, but I caught myself as she wrapped her legs around my hips and just sort of hung there as she kissed me.
Well, with my arms full of a pretty, nearly naked, redheaded whore, I didn't think much about anything else for a few seconds, but then I heard Roy say, "I'd just let it go if I was you, mister." The sound of his voice told me plain as day that there might be trouble.
I'd closed my eyes while I was kissing Becky, but I opened them now and turned a little so that I could see. The man she'd been with was standing up and glaring at me and her. His hands were balled into fists, and his shoulders were set for a fight. Roy stood a few feet away from him, his left hand raised slightly. The gent looked like he couldn't decide if he wanted to take a swing at Roy or come after me and Becky first.