“That would be their ramrod, Chavez,” I offered.
“Iffen you say so. Anyway, this Chavez feller, he takes out a ceegar from his shirt pocket and lights up. Then he motions to the barkeep to buy this Morton feller a drink. Next this other Mex translates for him that they ain’t a gonna fight with ’em. Says they’s just passin’ through and ain’t lookin’ fer no trouble.”
“I assume it didn’t help?”
“Hell, no. This Morton, he just laughs, and starts bragging again to his friends about how many Mexican whores he’s had. Then he and some o’ his pals order all the Mexes out of the place.”
“And they just took that?” I asked surprised.
“Well, Ah’ll tell you. This Chavez feller shrugs his shoulders, and then turns to leave. But, see, he stops first to put out his cigar on the bar.”
“Then what happened?” I asked. Chavez was hardly the mild-mannered type.
“Oh, he put the cigar out all right. But as it turns out, he ground it right into the back of Morton’s hand. Well, Ah’ll tell you, that man yelped loud enough to wake the dead, and pulls up his hand in pain. Next thing ya know this Chavez feller grabs up the shotgun and clouts him right across the nose with it. Man, that Morton went down like he was pole-axed. After that the rest of them started swinging at anyone in sight. And them Mexes, they got this one big bald feller.”
“Chango,” I said, nodding.
“Whatever. Anyway, he grabs this one cowboy up over his head and throws him clear through the gambling wheel like he was a dart. Went right through the middle, flying headfirst. When the bodies started sailin’ through the windows is when Ah skedaddled out of there. Last Ah heard every table was broke, two cowboys lost an ear, and the barkeep got part o’ his nose bit off. One cowboy ’parently pulled a gun. They found him later under a table, with three holes in him, two in the chest and one in the gut. Right here.” He pointed to his belly, indicating the precise spot.
“Any of them mejicanos hurt?” I asked.
“Saw ’im ride out right afterwards. Couple of bloody noses and one fellow was cut a little on the arm, but nothing serious. Leastwise nothing Ah could see.”
“How many riders were there?” I asked.
“About twenty or so, Ah reckon.”
“Seems they’re madder than I thought, to have brought that many.”
“Son, mad don’t touch it. Just ask the fellers at the Golden Goose, or what’s left of it,” he said.
“Any place left in town to get a drink now?” I asked.
“Yeah, but Ah’d have to show you,” he answered, licking his lips in anticipation.
“All right, you do that, and I’ll spring for the drinks.” I laughed. “And then we can talk to your brother-in-law about those supplies.”
When we walked past what remained of the Golden Goose, I could see that Elijah hadn’t exaggerated. After that I was more determined than ever not to let those vaqueros catch up with me until I had a chance to find the herd and square things.
Chapter Fifteen
I left Gila City at first light, aiming for Fort Yuma.
I rode hard and fast, trying to put as much distance between myself and the vaqueros as possible. This time I made no effort to cover my trail, since after a day or two it would be obvious to everyone where I was going.
A week later I arrived at the Butterfield stage way station. It was the logical place to stop and rest, the food was good, and they didn’t water their drinks. I had hoped finally to clean up some before moving into California, but as usual it was not meant to be.
After tending to the roan, I went into the station house. Since I’d run out of bacon three days earlier, visions of a hot steak, mashed potatoes, and biscuits flashed briefly through my mind. It was only briefly, though, for, as soon as I opened the door, the commotion inside wiped away any hope of a nice quiet meal.
Inside eight heavily built drovers had a lone black cowboy trapped in a corner and were preparing to beat him up. One of the men had a bottle in his hand and was raising it to strike just as I entered. For some reason it didn’t surprise me one bit to find Sonora Mason on the receiving end, staring back at me from the corner. For the time being lunch would have to wait.
“ ’Afternoon, gents,” I said as loudly and forcefully as I could. “Just goin’ over to the bar here. Don’t mind me. I’m not lookin’ to interfere with your fun.”
Caught off guard by my unexpected entrance, they all turned toward me and hesitated.
“By the way, just what is going on here anyway?” I asked.
“We’re about to brain us a smart-mouthed nigger,” replied the one brandishing the bottle. He was a fat, bearded lout missing all his front teeth. He wore an old buffalo-hide vest and a ten-gallon black hat with the brim turned up. “Any problem with that, stranger?” he asked threateningly.
“Why would anyone have a problem with that?” I asked innocently. “Besides, anyone can see he’s the type that’s probably getting what he deserves,” I added. “Just look at those shifty eyes of his.”
Sonora caught my wink after they turned back to him.
“What’s that you say? Hey, you want to buy into this, too, asshole, or you just some big-mouth pansy with no stones to back it up?” Mason yelled across at me.
“Well, now…. Boy!” I shouted angrily. “Just who the hell do you think you are, talking to me that way?” I spoke loudly, hoping further to distract the others. Stepping quickly away from the bar, I shoved my way through the crowd until I faced Mason, directly alongside the drover with the bottle.
“You know,” I said turning to Buffalo Vest. “There’s only one thing I hate worse than an uppity nigger.”
“Yeah?” he asked anticipating the joke. “What’s that?”
“Having to fight a bunch of ignorant cowpunchers, instead of eating lunch!” My right elbow crashed into the side of his head. It wasn’t exactly the answer he’d expected.
The next ten minutes still remain something of a blur. I vaguely remember Mason kicking the nearest drover in the knee, and then backhanding him as he doubled over in pain. I ducked low under a chair that was swung at my head by a bald type in an old soldier shirt. He was wearing tied down bat chaps that flared out widely at the bottom, so I grabbed for the chaps near his ankles, and then pulled as hard as I could while straightening back up. He was thrown backward off his feet, slammed through a table, and hit the floor flat on his back.
Someone cuffed me behind the left ear hard enough to knock me forward into Mason. He stopped my fall, but, as I began to recover, he suddenly shoved me hard on the shoulders, causing me to drop back down again. Another drover coming up behind me ran smack into Sonora’s fist as Mason slugged right over my head directly into his oncoming face. The drover fell over backward like someone who’d just run into a wall.
I turned around and side-by-side the two of us rushed into the remaining four. When it was all over, my knuckles were swollen, my lower lip split, and my left ear was bleeding. Sonora was holding his left shoulder where a broken bottle had slashed him and had another gash over his right elbow. The others looked a hell of a lot worse.
We supported ourselves on what was left of the bar as I reached over, searching for a bottle.