Ralph Compton Sixguns and Double Eagles Page 2

  “And when they pay off,” said Wes, “it’s in counterfeit.”

  “Exactly,” Silver said. “If you have no other leads and you feel it’s safe to do so, you may want to sit in on an occasional poker game. After you’ve won a hand or two, collect your winnings and request payment in gold. The bag on the floor contains four thousand dollars in eagles and double eagles.”

  “Suppose we find gambling houses and saloons paying off in counterfeit,” said Wes. “We know it’s just a front for the counterfeiters, and we’ll have no real evidence. Do you believe these men operating saloons and gambling houses can lead us to the outlaws at the top of this outfit?”

  “Frankly, no,” Silver said, “but there’s always a chance. We captured two such men who were willing to talk, but they didn’t live long enough. The Dragon gives nobody the benefit of the doubt. Once one of their men is captured, he’s marked for death.”

  “Madre de Dios,” said El Lobo, “the Dragon is everywhere and he has many faces. Where do we look for him?”

  “These are western outlaws,” Silver said, “and they thrive because western men insist on gold coin. There are three United States mints where we’ve had trouble. There is one in San Francisco, California, one in Carson City, Nevada, and the third is in New Orleans.”

  “New Orleans isn’t a western town,” said Wes. “How do you account for it?”

  “It’s on the Gulf Coast,” Silver said. “We believe the Golden Dragon depends heavily on sailing ships into and out of New Orleans and San Francisco. We aren’t sure there isn’t a foreign power involved, and that the genuine gold coins aren’t being shipped out of the country. We know for a fact that all their base metals necessary to mint the counterfeit coins are being freighted in, possibly from South America.”

  “How you know?” El Lobo asked.

  “Because they must have enormous amounts of these metals,” said Silver, “and we are able to control the sale of them within the United States.”

  “Use of the ports in New Orleans and San Francisco make sense,” Wes said, “but why is there any activity in Carson City, Nevada?”

  “There’s a mint in Carson City,” said Silver, “and there’s still a lot of mining going on in Nevada. It was there that an entire shipment of newly minted double eagles were taken and an equal number of counterfeits left in their place.”

  “An inside job,” Wes said.

  “Obviously,” said Silver, “but nobody would talk. Either they had been well paid, or were afraid for their lives. Every man of them was dismissed, only to have the very same thing happen again, three months later.”

  “I reckon you’ve searched incoming and outgoing ships in New Orleans and San Francisco harbors,” Wes said.

  “In a limited fashion,” said Silver. “Oceangoing vessels require wooden crates nailed securely, with the nature of the contents stenciled on the top or side. Stated contents can be anything, regardless of what’s stenciled on the crate. Even if we had the time and men, there would be hell to pay if we took to opening individual crates. We dare not allow the newspapers so much as a hint as to this conspiracy. If the public had any idea—especially west of the Mississippi—there would be a panic. A run on the banks could destroy this country. That’s why, under no circumstances, are you to reveal what you have been told. Not to anybody. What have you told your women, Renita and Tamara?”

  “Nothing,” said Wes, “except that we’re working with a longtime friend of my father for a while. I reckon you know that’s put us in a bad position. My Renita was stolen away in El Paso and spent three months in a Mexican whorehouse before I found her. Tamara—El Lobo’s intended—met a similar fate, and was disowned by her wealthy Spanish father.”

  “My God,” Silver said. “I didn’t know that. I suppose they feel betrayed.”

  “They do,” said Wes. “They were expecting us to stand before a preacher and let him read from the book. Now they’re not sure of us.”

  “Sí,” El Lobo agreed. “Tamara call me Injun with forked tongue. Selfish brute.”

  “Renita had some harder words than that for me,” said Wes.

  “Where are they now?” Silver asked.

  “In El Paso, at Granny Boudleaux’s boarding house,” said Wes.

  “Good,” Silver said. “However bitter they may be, they’re safe. If the Golden Dragon can’t get to a man any other way, they’ll go after his family. Wives and children especially. It’s better that you have no obvious ties to anyone until this is behind you.”

  “Since we’re going into this cold,” said Wes, “where do you suggest we start?”

  “You’re only three days away from New Orleans by steamboat,” Silver said. “Why not start there? The Treasury has supplied me with names of all personnel within the individual mints in question. The list is in the satchel with the gold coins. You might want to follow up on certain men in key positions, such as the security guards. A man with a need for money—maybe for gambling debts—might be tempted. Should you find such evidence, don’t make any move until you get word to me. Success or failure depends almost entirely upon the capture of some somebody willing to talk.”

  “We’ll keep that in mind,” said Wes, “but we’ll be keepin’ our guns handy. If you’re right, and they send a bunch of killers after us, we’ll be shootin’ back.”

  “I expect you to,” Silver replied. “I can kill any federal warrants against you, but you may run into trouble with local law. Some of them may have sold out, and you’ll have to get around them as best you can. Try not to shoot anybody wearing a badge, because it can play hell with public opinion. Should you be arrested, wire me and I’ll see that you get help.”

  “You’ve already said we couldn’t expect any help from you,” said Wes.

  “I can’t intervene directly,” Silver said, “but I have connections with federal judges who can order your release under certain conditions.”

  “What are those conditions?” Wes asked.

  “Self-defense,” said Silver. “Be sure that any shooting is justified. Of course, I needn’t tell you that if you’re involved in a serious shootout, do what you must, and then get the hell out of there before the law arrives.”

  Wes laughed. “I think we’ll rely more on that advice than on your federal judges.”

  “I suspected as much,” Silver said. “There’s something I still haven’t told you. There is a reward of fifty thousand dollars being offered by the Treasury for the elimination of this threat to the nation. It can be yours.”

  “Mr. Silver,” said Wes, “if we were in this for money, the United States Treasury wouldn’t have enough to pay us.”

  “Sí,” El Lobo agreed. “This be my country now. I fight for it.”

  “Nathan Stone felt the same way,” said Silver. “May God bless the both of you.”

  St. Louis, October 9,1884.

  Two days after Silver’s departure, Wes and El Lobo checked out of the hotel. It was three hours before the steamboat would leave for New Orleans, but they needed the time to take their horses from the livery and get them aboard. Nobody seemed to notice them as they led their mounts toward the landing. Empty lagged behind, not liking the shriek of the steamboat whistles.

  “I no ride steamboat before,” El Lobo said. “What it be like?”

  “It’s a fast way to travel,” said Wes, “but mostly it’s just waiting. Kind of like at the hotel, except it floats. There’ll be a dining hall where we eat, and a room just big enough for two bunks.”

  “It be hell of place for ambush,” El Lobo said.

  “I’ve thought of that,” said Wes. “After what Silver’s told us, we’ll likely be jumping at shadows.”

  “Sí,” El Lobo said, “and we must, for we not know when the shadow have a gun.”

  They reached the steamboat landing without incident and found the boat docked, for it was being loaded with freight. Wes bought their tickets, made arrangements for their horses, and had them led aboard. Eventually another
horse was brought to the landing. Wes and El Lobo stared at the animal in admiration, for it was solid black except for a single white sock on its left front foot. The animal was led by a gray-haired man accompanied by a young woman who looked maybe half his age. Suddenly Empty came to life. With a glad yelp he ran toward the man leading the black, and startled, the horse reared.

  “Empty,” Wes shouted, “no.”

  But the black was soon under control and the reins were passed to the girl. The man had hunkered down and was ruffling Empty’s ears.

  “Come on,” said Wes. “They know one another.”

  As Wes and El Lobo approached, the stranger got to his feet, his unbelieving eyes on Wes Stone.

  “My dog seems to know you,” Wes said.

  “He should,” said the stranger. “I raised him from a pup, and my late wife named him Empty.”

  “Then you knew Nathan Stone, my father,” Wes said.

  “For many years, and as fine a friend as a man ever had. I’m Barnabas McQueen, and this is my wife, Vivian. We have a horse ranch near New Orleans. The horse is Flash, and he won his first race at the fair grounds yesterday.”1

  “My pleasure, meeting you,” said Wes. “I’m Wes Stone, and this is my amigo, El Lobo. Our horses are already aboard, and we’re bound for New Orleans. I’d like to spend some time with you on the boat and have you tell me as much as you can about Nathan Stone, my father. That is, if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind in the least,” said McQueen.

  “Nathan is dead, then,” Vivian said, speaking for the first time.

  “Yes,” said Wes. “He was gunned down in El Paso this past June.”

  “That’s what we feared,” McQueen said.

  “It comes as no surprise,” said Vivian. “For every friend, Nathan seemed to have a dozen enemies, all of them wanting him dead.”

  While Wes didn’t know of her relationship to Nathan, he had his suspicions, for there was bitterness and regret in her eyes, and Barnabas McQueen seemed suddenly uncomfortable. Wes spoke.

  “He didn’t die at the hands of his enemies, ma‘am. They were mine. I wore the badge in El Paso, and a gang of border outlaws came after me. He sided me, meeting them in the street. There were fifteen men against us—impossible odds—and they shot him to pieces. I shot my way to him, but he was already dead. He knew me, but I never knew him as my father until he was dead.”2

  “My God,” McQueen said, “it’s the kind of unselfish thing Nathan Stone would have done. What became of the outlaws?”

  “I followed them into Mexico,” said Wes. “That’s where I met El Lobo. They tried to kill him, and he threw in with me.”

  “You found and killed them all?” Vivian asked.

  It was a foolish, unnecessary question, and Wes said nothing. McQueen again looked uncomfortable, and it was he who spoke.

  “We’d better get Flash aboard. There’ll be plenty of time for talk between here and New Orleans.”

  Empty took a few steps toward the gangplank, as though to follow McQueen, but he turned back and sat watching as the black horse was led aboard.

  “He remembers,” said El Lobo.

  “Yes,” Wes said, “and I envy him. All I know of my father is what I can learn from those who knew him.”

  “There be plenty time to talk on steamboat,” said El Lobo. “You per‘ap learn much in three days.”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” Wes said.

  So elated was he, having met McQueen, that he failed to notice two men wearing tied-down Colts. They had just bought tickets and were covertly eyeing Wes and El Lobo....

  Chapter 1

  The big stern-wheeler, with a blast from its whistle, backed away from the landing on schedule. Wes and El Lobo, accompanied by a skittish Empty, had gone to their cabin until the craft was under way. As Wes had predicted, the quarters were extremely cramped.

  “We don’t stay here all the time?” El Lobo asked hopefully.

  Wes laughed. “No, we can spend as much time on deck as we like. I doubt McQueen’s cabin is any bigger than ours. We’ll have to do our visiting elsewhere. Come on, let’s get out of here. Empty’s ready to abandon ship.”

  They found McQueen already on deck, watching the muddy water of the Mississippi roll off the huge paddle wheel. He was alone, and seemed glad to see them.

  “Vivian decided to stay in the cabin,” said McQueen. “Not me. It’s so confining. I can barely stand it long enough to sleep there.”

  “How long have you been racing horses?” Wes asked.

  “Most of my life,” said McQueen. “The first time I saw your father, he and a lady—Eulie Prater—showed up at my place. My late wife Bess rented them one of our cabins for a few days. I mention Eulie because she could gentle horses like nobody I’ve ever seen before or since. Nathan met a government man in town—Bryan Silver—and Silver had some men gunning for him. Nathan saved Silver’s bacon but ended up neck-deep in trouble with Silver’s enemies. Nathan threw in with Silver, leaving Eulie with Bess and me. I had a big black that I couldn’t handle, but Eulie gentled him and rode him in many a race.”

  “I know Silver,” Wes said, “and he told me about the trouble in New Orleans, but he didn’t mention Eulie. What became of her?”

  “The gambling syndicate that was after Nathan tried to fix a race by ambushing the lead rider. Eulie was shot and died after crossing the finish line. Nathan blamed himself, and I don’t think he ever got over her. Silver was shot in the same ambush, and Nathan took it upon himself to settle the score with those responsible.”3

  “He bueno hombre,” said El Lobo.

  “He was that and more,” McQueen said. “He fought for his friends, and damn the odds. Once, Bess and me had been ambushed by horse thieves and left for dead. Nathan found us, got us to a doctor, and then took the trail of the four thieves. He tracked them all the way to Arkansas and returned with our stolen horses.”

  McQueen talked until the steamboat’s bell called them to supper.

  “I’d better go wake Vivian,” said McQueen. “I’ll see you in the dining hall.”

  Wes led Empty to the kitchen, where he had made provisions for the dog to be fed. El Lobo had taken a table, and when Empty had eaten, he and Wes joined the Indian. There was still no sign of Barnabas McQueen.

  “Wonder where McQueen is?” Wes speculated.

  “His woman no like you,” said El Lobo.

  “I know,” Wes said. “I suspect there was more between her and my father than she wants me to know, and seeing me brought back times she’d just as soon forget. McQueen didn’t like the way she looked at me.”

  “He be old, she be young,” said El Lobo. “Malo.”

  “She’ll likely avoid us from here to New Orleans,” Wes said. “After that, we won’t be seeing them again, even if we wanted to. If Silver’s right, they could be in great danger from men stalking us.”

  The supper hour passed without any sign of the McQueens, and the dining hall began to empty. El Lobo caught Wes’s eye and the Indian nodded almost imperceptively. Clumsily Wes dropped a spoon, and when he bent to retrieve it he caught a brief glimpse of the two men who sat at a nearby table.

  “They watch us,” El Lobo said softly.

  “I think you’re right,” said Wes. “They’re tryin’ almighty hard not to seem all that interested in us. Let’s take a walk on deck, out near the stern. If they’re after us, we’ll give them a chance to make their play.”

  Wes and El Lobo were near the huge paddle wheel, well beyond the last of the hanging bracket lamps, when the two strangers emerged from the dining hall. They paused by the ship’s rail for a moment and then began a slow walk along the deck, toward the stern. Wes and El Lobo moved forward until they were within the shadow of the hurricane deck, and there they waited, half a dozen feet apart. The two gunmen halted thirty feet away, and one of them spoke.

  “Got a match?”

  As they drew their guns, Wes and El Lobo went belly-down on the deck
, their Colts roaring. Lead sang over their heads, and then but for the sound of dropped weapons and two bodies collapsing, there was silence.

  “Over the side with them,” said Wes. “We may have only a few seconds.”

  Each of them seized one of the dead men, and dragging them well away from the big paddle wheel, heaved them over the side into the muddy water of the Mississippi. Quickly they threw the weapons in after them and hurried along the deck toward the entrance to the dining hall and the narrow corridor that led to their cabins. But they didn’t quite make it. A curious cook met them.

  “I though I heard shooting,” he said.

  “So did we,” said Wes. “It must have been onshore. We decided to go inside. Might be dangerous out here.”

  “So it might,” the man said, seemingly satisfied.

  Quickly Wes and El Lobo made their way toward their cabin. Before the shooting had begun, Empty had made himself scarce. Now he was at their heels. Once in their cabin, El Lobo lighted a lamp while Wes locked and bolted the door.

  “Now,” said Wes, “we’d better clean and reload our weapons. There’s no chance of us reaching New Orleans without that pair of varmints being missed.”

  “Nobody see us,” El Lobo said, “and there be no law.”

  “On any vessel—steamboat or oceangoing ship—the captain is the law,” said Wes. “If it comes to an investigation, that cook will remember hearing shots, and he’ll remember us being on deck at the time. Our weapons must be able to stand inspection, in case we’re suspected. Now let’s hit these bunks and hope that pair don’t have friends aboard who’ll begin wondering where they are.”

  The McQueens joined Wes and El Lobo for breakfast, and apparently the dead gunmen hadn’t been missed.

  “I’m going to stay on deck for a while,” Vivian said when the meal was over. “I’m so tired of that cabin.”