“Sure enough are, gal.”
“And one of ’em’s likely got my letter.”
“Likely,” agreed the Kid, glancing up at the sky. “Only we’ll not catch up with ’em today. Won’t’ve reached another way station before dark, neither.”
“So I’ve used the ground for a mattress and the sky for a roof afore now.”
“I ain’t gainsaying it. Only when we make camp, it’ll be without a fire. Just in case them two pelados figure Spatz’s bunch didn’t stop us and come back to do it personal.”
“Would having ’em come back looking for us be so bad?” Calamity asked.
“Not’s long’s we knowed they was likely to do it,” admitted the Kid. “Which’s why I reckon we shouldn’t take chances tonight.”
“You’re the boss,” Calamity conceded.
“Then why’m I leading the pack-hoss?” asked the Kid.
Chapter 8 WE’LL TAKE THEM WHILE THEY SLEEP
OTÓN RUIZ FELT UNEASY AS HE RODE WITH JOB Hogue into the woods beyond the Silvers’ way station on the Platte River. Turning in his saddle, he looked back at the buildings.
“Hijo de puta!” the Mexican spat out, reining his sabino around.
Wondering what had disturbed his companion, Hogue swung his bay to face in the direction from which they had come. He stared back across the half a mile that separated them from the buildings. At first he could detect nothing to have brought about the other man’s actions. Then he looked beyond the way station and felt relieved by the fact that the trees and undergrowth flanking the trail hid them from the buildings and the ford behind them. Letting out an Anglo-Saxon curse even viler than his companion’s Spanish comment, Hogue turned his eyes to the other’s face. Ruiz was grinning in a faintly mocking manner.
“It appears that your amigo Spatz failed to do what he promised and was paid well for,” the Mexican said dryly.
“Yeah!” Hogue answered. “And the lard-gutted son-of-a-bitch never even telegraphed to let us know they’d got by his men.” Turning his gaze back to the two riders crossing the ford, each leading three horses, he reached for his rifle. “Looks like we’ll have to tend to their needings ourselves.”
Deciding that repeating the reminder that it had been Hogue’s idea to hire Spatz would get them nowhere, Ruiz scowled at the way station. Clearly the attempt had been a failure, which was very annoying. All the previous afternoon they had watched their back trail without seeing a sign of their pursuers. Despite Hogue’s belief that all had gone as planned, Ruiz had insisted on finding a high point when the sun went down. From it they had scoured the land behind them, searching for a sight of a camp-fire to tell them that the girl and her companion were still following on their trail. They had seen nothing and continued their journey to the Platte satisfied that the pursuit had been halted. Not only had they been wrong, but their pursuers had closed the gap between them during the day. Not surprising, considering that the Canary girl and the Texan could alternate between reserve horses, while the two men had but one animal apiece.
Becoming aware of Hogue’s actions, Ruiz inquired, “Do you think it’s wise, amigo?”
“Huh?” the burly man grunted, pausing with the Winchester halfway to his shoulder. “What d’you mean?”
“Is shooting them down here any answer?”
“How d’you mean?”
“Silvers is not one of The Outfit. If murder is done at his place, he will inform the law,” Ruiz explained. “There are peace officers in Lexington to the west and Kearney to the east.”
“Only we ain’t going to either place,” Hogue pointed out, feeling annoyed as always when the Mexican showed signs of smart thinking.
“No. We are going to Hollick City, which also has a telegraph office and sheriff,” Ruiz answered. “A sheriff who knows us and would recognize our descriptions, amigo.”
“Day Leckenby don’t worry me none!” Hogue blustered, but did not complete the raising of the rifle. “He could make fuss for the boss, though.”
“Si,” Ruiz agreed. “Needless fuss, when there is a better way.”
“Such as?”
“Such as riding on——”
“You’re figuring on making a run for Hollick City?” Hogue snorted. “It’s still a good day’s ride and these hosses ain’t getting any fresher, way we’ve been pushing ’em. Comes another point, I don’t cotton to the notion of going back there and telling the boss that the Canary gal’s trailing along with a Texas gun-slick.”
“He’s not Cabrito,” Ruiz said. “I thought that he was, back in Mulrooney, but not any more.”
“Whether he’s the Ysabel Kid or not don’t make too much difference,” Hogue stated. “If he bust by Spatz’s bunch, he’s good with a gun.”
“But he is not Cabrito, amigo. Which means that we can carry out my plan.”
“I ain’t heard no plan yet,” Hogue growled, watching the riders halt at the hitching rail where their own mounts had been standing while they went into the main building for a meal. “The boss ain’t going to like it one lil bit if we get back with that redheaded calico-cat still living.”
From the expression on Ruiz’s face, he was for once in complete agreement with his companion. They both knew that their efforts in Mulrooney had not been entirely crowned with success. Especially when they considered how much money their employer must have spent in obtaining the specialized services of The Outfit.
The partial failure was Hogue’s and Ruiz’s fault, for The Outfit had done their part. It had been understood from the start that, with the delicate nature of the political situation at the State capitol, The Outfit could not arrange for Martha Jane Canary’s death in Topeka. Instead it had been fixed so that she should be sent to meet an honest lawyer, unconnected with the organization, in Mulrooney and placed in a hotel where the two men could find her.
Except for one slight snag, everything had gone according to plan. Not being sure what the girl looked like, and wishing to avoid mistakes, Smith had been sent by his superior to watch the railroad depot. For some reason, he had failed to see her leave the train. So they had not been aware of the nature of their intended victim. Waiting until after midnight, Smith had escorted Hogue and Ruiz to the Railroad House Hotel. They had discovered which room she occupied by reading the register on the unattended desk.
Hogue’s mistrust of Mexicans had caused them to disagree on the best way to handle the situation. So they had decided that Ruiz should try to gain access via the door, using a trick he had learned as a boy, while Hogue attempted to enter through the bedroom window. Once inside, they were to kill the girl and carry off every document that might prove her identity. After producing a ladder for Hogue and pointing out the window of Room Fourteen, Smith had left them to do their work.
The attempt had turned into a miserable fiasco. However, Smith’s superior had suggested a way by which they might still be able to carry out the orders. They could stop her reaching Counselor Talbot’s office later that morning. To avoid mistakes, Smith had arranged for the hotel’s desk clerk to direct the girl by a specific route to the lawyer’s office. The man had remained opposite the hotel and the clerk had signaled when the correct female left.
Although the Texan’s intervention had prevented them from doing more than steal the girl’s documents, The Outfit’s senior representative had insisted that the two men left Mulrooney without delay. He had promised that he would telegraph warning of any pursuit to Spatz’s way station. Knowing the penalty for disobeying The Outfit, Hogue and Ruiz had not argued. They felt that they had carried out their orders adequately, if not entirely. If Talbot followed Lawyer Endicott’s instructions, he would only tell the girl about the Rafter C when satisfied that she had the right to know about it. Somehow she had convinced the Mulrooney lawyer that she was Martha Jane Canary, and followed them accompanied by a man. Most likely he was the same fast-moving Texan who had saved her life.