The Two Devils (10 page)

"You better talk to the major,” the sentry said. I didn't want to, but reluctantly agreed.

The major was a burly, bearded man with graying features and steel gray eyes that sort of looked right through you. “You know how many horses the United States government is missing around here?"

"Nope,” I truthfully answered.

"Two thousand eight hundred and thirty-one.” The major looked over the herd. “How'd you get ‘em to come with you?"

"Don't rightly know. They just sort of started following us."

The major scratched his head. “Well, sure wish you'd found the other eighteen hundred of them, but we're much obliged.” He wrote down my name and a few details, then Paul and I were on our way home.

We took a ferry back across the river. The Sacramento had powerful currents, and I didn't see any point in tempting fate trying to swim it twice in one day.

The livery folks refused to take Paul back. They just gave me my saddle. I told them where the surrey was. I also told them the army had their horses. That didn't exactly overjoy them, but I figure they'd probably heard worse news than that.

With no place to board Paul, and with my knowing more than I was telling about this horse stuff, I had a sudden yearning for the anonymity of the mining camps in Nevada. I packed up and we headed for Nevada, by way of Inyo, which is a lower altitude gap in the Sierra Nevada. I had no wish to go over Donner Pass with winter coming on.

And so, a few weeks later, we rode into Virginia City. It hadn't changed much. Some of the tent cabins had been replaced with permanent structures. Otherwise, it was still pretty much the same. And, one of the first of these new structures had a barber pole out in front of it. Fifteen minutes later, I had myself another barbering job. An hour after that, a room at a local otel. I had not seen an otel in California. This was even more rundown than the last one I'd lodged at, but the price was right.

They even had a place in back for Paul. It was a lean-to shed with a flimsy fence around it. Since Paul didn't stay put anyway, I just wanted a place for him out of the weather.

As I took my boots off and stretched out on the lumpy excuse for a mattress, I figured I'd done pretty good. It was the first time I'd ever quit a job. All my other employers had always fired me. Next day, I reported for work and did twenty shaves and six hair cuts, far more than anything I'd ever done in Stockton. And we even charged a nickel more per head. But, I'd learned that good fortune seldom stayed with me for long.

Around a week later, I was riding Paul on my day off. It was a pleasant Sunday afternoon. The sky was blue and birds were singing, just the sort of day when something terrible always happens. As we moseyed along next to a small mountain stream, I caught a whiff of something, a familiar unpleasant smell. Paul noticed it, too. “Not again,” I protested as Paul took us off the beaten path and onto an unbeaten one. We soon came to a mountain meadow. Across that meadow was a small, narrow canyon.

Inside that canyon was about a thousand horses confined with a fence at the opening. The army major had said there were a lot more missing horses than the ones I'd found in California. Well, it seemed he was right.

This time we were spotted right away by the guards with the Winchesters. They were jumping up and down and pointing at us. Two men emerged from the canvas tent cabin, climbed on two saddled-up horses, and started for us.

"Well, Paul, got any ideas?” That was a stupid thing to ask. He turned and knocked me off his back by running me into a tree limb. As I landed on my posterior, he disappeared into the forest. The two men arrived seconds later, with their guns drawn on my head.

"It's the man we killed over in California,” one of them announced.

"Can't be him, on account this one ain't dead."

It was the same two bushwhackers who'd robbed me.

I recognized them, too. “You gentlemen must have me confused with somebody else. I've never been to Californee. I live in Virginia City. My horse just threw me."

"Well, we'll go and fetch him for ya.” The big galoot cocked the hammer on his army Colt revolver, no doubt stolen. “After we kill ya."

This was not a very good predicament. I don't know why Paul dumped me there and ran off. But there I was, lying on the ground about to be killed. ‘Victory favors the bold,’ I'd read somewhere. I drew my revolver and fired.

One would think the fellow already holding the gun would have the advantage. But, human reflexes aren't always that fast. And, there was a certain smug denial that someone could do such a thing.

But, an instant later, I'd fired my gun, and the man's partner was trying to draw his. “Give it up.” He didn't, and I fired again. I picked myself up.

These two men were now the ones lying on the ground. Neither was moving. A funny sinking sensation filled my gut, but I had bigger problems.

More men were riding up. I followed Paul's lead and ran off into the forest to hide. This was the first time I'd ever killed somebody. I should've known taking a weapon from Nick was bound to lead to trouble, sooner or later. A fellah can sometimes have too much time with his thoughts.

That wasn't a problem this time. I was busy running, trying to get away from the riders who were after me. A Ponderosa pine provided some shelter at its base. There was a crease of an opening from some prior damage, perhaps from lightning. I curled up there and tried to stay absolutely quiet. It didn't work.

The all-too-familiar icy cold steel of a gun barrel soon found the back of my neck to press up against. “Hands up!"

I complied. Then I was taken into a tent cabin, where I faced a familiar figure, the guy hovering over the ledger. And his face was still fixated on his book.

After a few minutes, he closed it. “Now you are over here in Nevada trying to steal my horses. Are you sure you're not with the Secret Service?"

"Nope. I'm just some clod with real bad luck.” And that was the truth.

He set the ledger book down and peered at me. There seemed to be something wrong with his eyes. “I thought we killed you.” He grinned, revealing the most hideous green teeth.

"Nope. Must've been some other guy. I hope you don't mind my asking, but what do you want with all these horses?” I figured at least I'd die knowing.

"The government has created an army of spies and called them the Secret Service,” my captor explained, though it made no sense to me. “It seems they're everywhere."

"Look, even if I was some kind of government agent, what on earth are you doing with all these horses?” I asked.

"We'll tell you nothing.” He pointed a bony finger at me. “Young man, when you were pooping your diapers I sat in a Union prisoner of war camp. If they think they can do that to me, they've got another thing coming. Did we have food? Was disease everywhere? More confederate prisoners died from disease as prisoners than from wounds in battle. Glad I escaped all that."

"It was a rough time for everyone.” I pointed my finger back at him.

"But what's this got to do with horses?” It was obvious this guy, like others I'd come across, was still fighting the Civil War in some fashion, at least in his own mind.

"We're going to arm the Indians and train them, then kill everyone west of the Mississippi. They need horses and lots of them."

"Oh."

Then he looked toward my captor. “Kill him and get it right this time. He cost us half our inventory."

"He gunned down Ned and Clyde,” my captor said.

"All the more reason to get it right.” He opened up his ledger again and lost further interest in me.

My captor opened the door. A horse hoof landed square in his midsection and hurled him back and through the canvas wall.

I really liked that horse. I grabbed my gun belt and went out to climb on Paul. I noticed there was confusion everywhere. Paul must've already released the horses.

They were everywhere. “Let's get out of here,” I suggested. Paul seemed to agree as we galloped back toward town.

About a mile down the road, I was shocked to encounter a squad of cavalry, including the same major we'd met in California.

"What are you doing over here?” he asked me.

"I could ask you the same question. Them horses you were looking for, I found ‘em.” I pointed back over my shoulder with my right thumb. “'Bout a mile back there. Them nitwits want to train the Indians on them."

"Yeah and the Mexicans, or any other disgruntled yahoo they can sign up. They're still fighting the Civil War.” He turned to the sergeant who was next to him. Take your men, sergeant."

"Move out!” the sergeant ordered.

After the troops had ridden off, the major said, “Mr. O'Malley, the United States appreciates your efforts."

I shrugged. “Beats me."

"Well, did you happen to notice if they'd been doing any printing? Paper, press, anything like that?"

"Are you the Secret Service? That bony guy with the ledger keeps asking anyone they capture if they're Secret Service."

He smiled. “Thanks again for your help, Mr. O'Malley.” He rode to catch up with his men.

I headed back to town and plopped down on my lumpy mattress and quickly fell asleep.

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The next day was quite ordinary. I cut hair and did shaves all day long. Business was at a steady pace until we closed up at 4:30, our usual quitting time. I strolled back to the otel and discovered I was now living in a hotel.

They had a new sign out front that read ‘Hotel,’ and I even had a new mattress waiting for me. I was also informed my weekly rent was going up.

I didn't know what to do about all that, so I ventured across the street to the Mill Street Café. I often splurged when faced with unexpected adversity. This seemed like an appropriate situation for a meal I could not afford.

As I waited for my Kansas City steak with all the trimmings to arrive, I began to feel rather uncomfortable as the recipient of a woman's gaze. She wasn't just any woman.

She dressed conservatively in black, and I believed her to be a nun. I'd never actually met a nun, but she certainly matched the description. I couldn't figure out why she was so interested in me. I checked twice to make certain I had a clean shirt on. She departed when I was about halfway through my steak and I consumed the rest of my meal in peace. However, I spotted her again, lurking just outside the café. I decided to take the initiative. “Sister, do you need help with something?"

Her face blushed slightly. “I, I find this rather difficult. The waitress, in the café, said you did work for the government."

I found this astonishing. The government was the one place I'd never been fired from, and I certainly never boasted about anything to anyone in this town. The one thing I'd learned early in life was the Ben Franklin proverb about it being better to remain silent and thought a fool than to open one's mouth and remove all doubt. I didn't boast much about my pathetic life. And my only government service was finding their lost horses.

"No ma'am. I'm just a barber,” I responded. “Perhaps they meant someone else?"

She turned away. “Perhaps so."

"Who told you this? I hardly know anyone,” I pointed out. “Least around here.” Or anywhere else, if truth be known.

"Well, in Reno, Mr. Mephistopheles recommended you,” she explained.

"Nick Mephistopheles?” I asked. It seemed ridiculous, the devil recommending me to a nun. Of course, I didn't really know what he recommended me for.

"Yes, that's him. He has a law office in Reno. He speaks most highly of you."

"He does?” I was actually surprised at both revelations, a law office and his speaking highly of me.

"Yes,” she insisted.

I shrugged. “Well, perhaps we should go somewhere and talk.” I still had no idea what she wanted me to do for her. We ended up in the lobby of the hotel I was hoping to move out of. Since it was midday, it was deserted.

"Mr. O'Malley, I realize someone in your profession cannot be too careful. I can assure you, we are very much in need of your services or I would not be here,” she explained. “I am Sister Mary Margaret, from Saint Paul's Parish in Arizona."

"You're a long way from home."

"We were even farther. We were in Victoria, Canada a month ago."

"Canada? Who's we?” At that point, as if on cue, Paul strolled up. I swatted him on the head. “This is my horse, Paul. Paul, go back outside. You're not allowed in here.” He slowly returned to the yard. He'd been coming inside a lot lately. The manager was not amused by this.

"A fine horse, he is,” she said. Three other women, dressed the same, approached us. “This is Sister Mary Catherine, Sister Mary Elizabeth, and Sister Bernadette."

I nodded my head in recognition. “Ladies."

"You are, perhaps, going to think we are the stupidest women on earth, Mr. O'Malley.” Mary Margaret's fist clenched. “About a year ago, we set out to open a mission in British Columbia, for our order. After we trained the novices and got things running, we were to return to Arizona. We never made it. Our belongings were stolen by a gentleman we employed to take us there."

"And our money, too,” Sister Bernadette added then explained. “We had booked passage on a ship to Los Angeles,” she continued. “We understood there would be a brief stop in Stockton. That brief stop turned out to be permanent. We never saw Glasgow Roberts again. Or our money.

"We stayed on board the ship, until the port authority placed a lien on it for fees due.” She sighed. “Now, we just want to get back to the convent in Arizona."

"How did you get here? In Virginia City?” I asked.

"We sing, Mr. O'Malley,” Sister Bernadette explained. “We sing for our supper. We have another week's engagement at the opera house. The promoter provided our railroad tickets to get us here from Stockton. And we'll make enough for a horse and buckboard."

"You want me to get you back to Arizona?” I asked.

"Yes,” she replied.

"I have a good job here. I can't just up and quit,” I protested.

Well, a week later, we headed out of town. I hadn't liked the hotel since they raised the rent, anyhow. We were heading south. This had to be some of the most desolate country God ever created. The sisters were worried about Indians. I was far more concerned with running out of drinking water. We had two barrels lashed down tight, but horses can go through a lot of water. What water we'd see along the way would, most likely, be heavy with alkaline, or worse.