Roy turned to walk away, stood, turned back around and scratched his chin, then said with a puzzled look on his face, “The short one took a good hard look around when he first rode up, then pulled a small book out of his saddlebag and wrote something in it! Damned if I’m not tellin’ the truth!”
What Roy told Madigan about this little man had him curious to say the least. A gunman that wrote things in a little book was as uncommon as an honest whore. But Madigan had no doubt that Roy said it just as it happened. Stranger things had taken place in the West. That he could attest to.
“What was the other one like?” he asked, his curiosity fully aroused by this time.
“Big. Big and kind’ve quiet. Had the look of an intelligent man, though. Wore his gun down low. As soon as he stepped down from his horse, he tied his holster down. I think he was prepared for any trouble that came his way.”
“Did they give you an idea of what they wanted?”
“More’n that. They told me what they was doing in town. Said they needed supplies and didn’t want to wait around for the general store to open. I told them Sherm Basketskill always opened early, so if they’d just go over, he was probably opened already.”
“Did they?” Madigan asked.
“Did they what?”
“Did they go get what they needed?”
Roy spit another stain of chew, this time narrowly missing Madigan’s boots. “Thought I was going to get you again, didn’t you?” he chuckled.
“Sure did,” Madigan said, still waiting for an answer to his question.
“Oh, yeah. You was askin’ about them two fellows. They did and they didn’t. They got their supplies, but they paid me to go get them for ‘em.” Reaching into his pocket Roy produced a shiny five-dollar gold piece. “Easiest money I ever came by in my life,” he bragged. “Got the usual grub and some more ammunition. They both shoot.44–40’s. Had me give their animals some grain and took a sack of corn with them to feel their horses on the trail. That’s about all. In less than an hour they were here and gone again.”
It didn’t take Madigan long to figure that these were the same men that he had saved back on the trail. When you have done as much scouting as he had, you read the trail like some men read a book, and Madigan had often seen the small boot tracks in the dirt where they had stopped to rest their horses.
He had also been aware of the much bigger prints that were deeper than most he’d seen. It wasn’t that the man had any bigger feet than other big men, it was how they pressed down in the soil when he walked, with even pressure on the sole, meaning that he was not bowlegged like many of the cowhands. Also, the toes always pointed straight ahead when he walked, much like an Indian.
Roy had mentioned one other thing. When the man spoke to his friend, he had a very slight accent. Roy took it to be French like he had heard once down in New Orleans. At any rate, these two were a curious mixture, of what Madigan did not know, but something told Madigan he would soon find out.
Chapter 10
Sam Madigan thought over the situation for a few minutes before making up his mind on what to do next.
“How’d you like to make another five-dollar gold piece?” he asked Roy.
“Who do I have to kill?” Roy asked with a grin, his lined face lighting up at the prospect of another five dollars.
“No one. Just get back to the store and pick up the things I have on this list.”
Roy gave Madigan a curious look as he handed him the paper. “Boy, this must be my day,” he said. “But you don’t have to pay me. I’d do it gladly for you.”
“Thanks anyway, Roy, but let me give you the money. You’ll be taking a chance with all the cutthroats in town. If they see you, they’re sure to ask questions. And that could mean trouble for you.”
“Don’t worry about me being seen,” Talley said. “I’ll go in the back door. Besides, those boys aren’t about to get out of the sack before noon.”
“By the way, does he stock much ammunition?” Madigan asked, remembering he was running low.
“Yep, in fact he might even have some for that big gun of yours.”
“Get me a couple of boxes of.44–40’s, and if he does have any of the big stuff, get me all he has of the.50–90’s. It’s getting hard to come by, so I always try to stock up when I can,” Madigan explained. He handed Roy a twenty-dollar gold piece. “That ought to just about do it,” he stated.
“I’m thinkin’ more than enough,” Talley said. Madigan watched as Roy pocketed the money and was soon out of sight as he turned the corner of a building at the far end of town.
Madigan took another look about him, then got busy getting the horses ready to leave as soon as Roy got back with his supplies.
From the balcony of the Pleasure Palace, a man stood smoking a long, foul-smelling cigar. The smoke rose up and drifted lazily around his face in the still morning air. From time to time the man would fan the smoke away from his eyes, then take another long pull on the stogie as he looked slowly down Main Street, first one way then the other.
He was about to go back inside to the warm bed where his woman for the night waited, when he noticed movement far down the road. It was early and the morning sun was still low in the east, throwing long shadows between the buildings on Main Street. Whatever it had been was now hidden in one of those shadows.
The man waited and was rewarded with the sight of an old man scurrying across the street to disappear along the far side of the store. As the man watched, the scar on the side of his face began to grow red in the morning light. Why would the old man be in such a hurry to cross the street, O’Neill wondered to himself. There is more to this than meets the eye he thought, and it might be wise to check it out.
“Honey, come back to bed,” came a voice from behind him. For a moment the temptation was almost too great, but O’Neill fought back the desire and hurriedly pulled on his boots.
Descending the stairs two at a time he was quickly out the door, and a short time later he found himself at the back door of the store. Carefully he peered around the corner of the open door. There within was the old man talking to a younger man who O’Neill took to be the storekeeper. They were not expecting company, so they talked freely.
“Sherm,” the old man was saying, “I need this list of goods filled as quickly as you can. You still got that ammunition for those buffalo guns?”
“Sure do. Can’t get rid of it. What you want with that stuff?” the younger man queried. “The only time I ever sell that ammo is to the few mountain men that come through on a grizzly hunt now and again.”
“Got a friend that wanted me to get some for him, but keep it to yourself for awhile will you, Sherm?”
“Anything you say, Roy. How much does he want? I have several different calibers. Which does he use?”
Fifty-ninety’s. He’ll take all you got.”
“That will be three boxes then. That’s the most I’ve sold of this stuff at one time since I opened this here place up! What’s he use it for?”
“For shootin’ things with.”
“Hell, I know that, Roy, but why three boxes? Take a hell of a man to go through one box in a year, less’n he’s wearing one of those old buffalo robes to protect his shoulder. Ever fire one of these things off, Roy?” Sherm asked, holding up a huge.50–90 cartridge.
“Not without a gun,” Roy smarted back.
“You know what I mean! You ever shoot a Sharps.50–90?”
“Yeah, once, and that was enough. My shoulder was black and blue for a month of Sundays. But this boy does all right with it, you can bet your bottom dollar on that.”
Sherm studied Roy for a moment before speaking. “Only one man I ever heard could shoot a.50–90 like you and me shoot a.44–40.”
“And who might that be, Sherm?”
“A man by the name of Sam Madigan. But I hear tell he’s over the other side of the Divide.”
“Not any more he’s not! He’s over at my place right now fixin’ to go on to California. Now hurry it up, Sherm. Those rascals at the Palace will be up before you get this stuff together.”