Ambush at Shadow Valley (21 page)

‘‘I haven't bullied or demanded anything from you, yet, Modale,'' Sam said, eyeing him closely. ‘‘The last couple of times I've walked into a place that has your name out front, all I've seen is the back of your shirt on your way out. I figure covering your
exit
would keep you around long enough to say howdy.''

‘‘Well, then . . .'' Modale settled down and said, ‘‘Howdy, Ranger. I reckon that didn't hurt nothing.''

‘‘No, not a thing,'' said Sam. He nodded for Hector to holster his gun. Then he said to Modale, ‘‘I'm looking for a man named Suelo Soto. He has a woman traveling with him, a German woman.''

‘‘Whew,'' said Modale, ‘‘I was afraid you were going to ask me about Memphis Beck and his Hole-in-the-wallers.''

‘‘Why's that?'' Sam asked.

‘‘That's who everybody else is wanting to know about these days,'' said Modale, ‘‘even former kin of mine.''

‘‘Are Beck and his gang around here nearby?'' Sam asked, already wondering if there might be a connection between Suelo Soto and the Hole-in-the-wall Gang.

‘‘I'll say they're nearby,'' said Modale. ‘‘Damn near the whole gang is squatting up there somewhere in the hills. I've heard three rounds of dynamite go off this morning. I expect they're getting set to blow an express car all to hell.''

Sam's mind raced.
Explosions?
He thought about the blast that Soto set off in Shadow Valley. He thought about Memphis Beck and his gang always looking for good explosives. Two and two came together quickly. ‘‘What about the man and woman? Did you see them?'' He felt that he knew the answer before he asked.

‘‘Oh yeah, I saw them,'' he said. ‘‘The man stood right here, tossing back shots of rye like he'd hang come morning,'' said Modale. ‘‘The Tall Texan and Billy Todd Carver wanted him to leave. But this fellow was sort of lording over them, if you know what I mean.''

‘‘How long ago?'' Sam asked, having heard enough to know that he and Hector were on the right trail.

Two, three days ago,'' said Modale, scratching his beard-stubbled chin. ‘‘At daylight this morning two bounty hunters came by looking for Beck and his men. Doing my civil duty I pointed them up there.'' His raised a finger toward the hills. ‘‘That's all I could do.''

‘‘Who are these bounty hunters?'' Sam asked.

‘‘Neil Deavers and Davis Dinsmore,'' Modale said without hesitation. ‘‘Neil is a good lawman, used to be anyway. Davis Dinsmore is a skunk of the worst order. I know—I used to be married to his sister. She was as bad as he is—once tried to stab me in the eye with a two-pronged meat fork.''

Sam turned to Hector and said, ‘‘Let's go. I think we've just had some good luck fall our way.''

‘‘What about the Hole-in-the-wall Gang?'' Hector asked as they turned and headed out the tent fly. ‘‘Won't they be on his side?''

‘‘That's a good possibility,'' said Sam. ‘‘But if I know Beck and his men, they don't hold to murder and kidnapping. Knowing the woman is with Beck and his gang gives us better odds at getting her back alive when we take Soto down.'' They stepped up into their saddles and rode away. Looking out from the tent fly, Modale shook his head and said, ‘‘Damn it, I ought to start charging money for all this information.''

Sam and Hector found the two bounty hunters' tracks and followed them all the way to the ridgeline overlooking the vacated hideout. From there they followed circling buzzards above the valley floor. In the afternoon sunlight the two rode out of the thick pines and into the front yard, having seen from the ridge that the place sat empty. ‘‘Looks like they left in a hurry,'' Sam commented, noting the front door of the house standing open.

Hector eyed the circling buzzards, then gestured ahead at more of the grisly, black scavengers strewn out about the yard. ‘‘Why are they scattered out this way? I have never seen them eat like this.''

Seeing three buzzards busily feeding on dark carnage atop the roof of the house, Sam quickly understood what had happened and said, ‘‘It looks like man or animal was unfortunate enough to get caught in one of the blasts Modale told us about.''

‘‘I only hope this is Suelo Soto they are eating,'' said Hector.

Looking all around, the two began to recognize bits of cloth and leather, blackened with blood. A boot heel lay in the dirt. Off to the left Hector saw half a saddle lying on the ground, a confused buzzard pecking at it with determination. The trunk of one of the horses lay a few yards away, being feasted upon by the hungry birds. ‘‘I've a feeling this is the remains of the two bounty hunters,'' he said.

The two stepped down out front of the barn and walked inside. Standing over the hole in the barn floor, Sam looked down at the wet straw and said, ‘‘They've been mixing nitroglycerin, making dynamite. Soto was in prison for killing two men. But after what happened in Shadow Valley, I expect making explosives is his trade. I can't imagine Beck and his gang having any other use for him.''

‘‘Whatever the case,'' Hector said with a sigh, ‘‘once again we have arrived too late, and because of it, more people have died.''

Walking out of the barn, Sam looked down at the fresh tracks on the ground, heading out of the yard toward the trail. ‘‘We might've showed up late,
Guardia
, but we're closer to the woman and Soto than we've been so far. If we press Beck and his men, he just might give him up.''

‘‘Give up one of their own?'' Hector asked. ‘‘Why do you think they would do such a thing?''

‘‘Just a hunch,'' said Sam, swinging up into his saddle, Hector doing the same. ‘‘We've got to get Beck and find a way to talk to him, let him know the kind of man he's riding with.''

PART 3

Chapter 18

Jonas Pierman looked out into the morning sunlight and saw Memphis Beck and Bowen Flannery ride in from the north, Flannery in a buggy, a man and woman riding along behind him on horseback. Without hesitation, the cattleman walked to a coatrack, took down his gun belt and strapped it on. He took down a hat and placed it on his head, then took down a riding duster and slipped it on as he walked out front to the hitch rail.

‘‘Bert,'' he said to the silver-gray gelding standing at the rail, ‘‘I think it's time we rode up on the grasslands, check on the hands there.''

Halfway down the long path leading to the trail, Pierman rode over close enough to touch his hat brim toward Beck and Flannery. Then he rode on without a word. Beck didn't bother introducing the wary-eyed rancher to Soto and Clarimonde. Ever since his old friend Pierman had left the outlaw life behind him, he'd wisely avoided knowing anything about what Beck and the rest of the gang were up to.

Once inside the large, crumbling adobe hacienda, Beck turned with his arms spread. ‘‘Ole Jonas has the best of it right here.'' He gestured toward the north across the dusty front yard. ‘‘Right out front he's got Arizona Territory on his left, New Mexico Territory on his right.'' He turned facing a back window and gestured out toward an endless line of jagged hills. ‘‘Out his back door he's got Old Mexico as far as the eye can see.''

‘‘Right now it all looks like more sand and cactus to me,'' Flannery said, slapping his dusty gloved hand against his thigh. Then he eyed Beck craftily. ‘‘But I take it the job is somewhere out the front door, eh?''

Beck smiled and put him off, saying, ‘‘As soon as the others all get here, I'll tell everybody at once where we're headed and what we're going to do there.''

Flannery started to ask more, but Soto cut in. ‘‘We have to get the explosives out of the buggy and out of the heat, before the clay starts to stiffen.'' He looked out the back window toward an adobe spring house sitting at the edge of a thin stream. ‘‘That should be a good place to store it overnight.'' He motioned to Flannery. ‘‘Come help me unload it.''

Flannery only stared at him coldly.

‘‘Let's give him a hand, Bowen,'' Beck said, stepping in and keeping his words between Flannery and himself. ‘‘You've got to help me keep things pulled together until we see this job through.''

As the three men unloaded the buggy and carried crates of the nitro-absorbed clay into the dark coolness of a weathered spring house, Beck managed to walk in close to Clarimonde and say almost in a whisper, ‘‘I hope you know everything you need to about making this stuff. I'm going to be needing somebody I can count on.'' He gave her a look that told her Suelo Soto wasn't going to be around much longer.

She felt a warm breath of relief move through her, yet she remained cautious about what she said. ‘‘I've learned everything he wanted me to learn,'' she said quietly.

Beck smiled faintly and kept walking.

Throughout the afternoon and into the night, the rest of the gang arrived, both singly and in pairs. The last to come riding along the path from the main trail at a fast gallop was Dave Arken. Sliding his horse to a halt at the hitch rail, he jumped down and said, ‘‘I could have sworn I was being tailed the last few miles coming in. It was plumb spooky. I thought it best if I swung wide a few miles from here and tried to shake whoever it was.'' He looked back again warily as he spoke. Then he turned back to Beck and said, ‘‘Anyway, here I am.''

Beck also looked back toward the trail. Earlier he'd felt that same feeling of being watched that he'd had the night at the hideout.
Nerves . . . ?
he asked himself. He considered it for a moment, but then he dismissed the matter entirely and said, ‘‘Come on in, Dave. Get yourself a cup of coffee. I'll send out a couple of guards as soon as I tell everybody what we're going to do.''

Inside the house, while the men gathered restlessly to hear what Beck had to say, Soto sent Clarimonde to wait out on the front porch. But seeing her turn to leave, Beck said, ‘‘She can stay.''

‘‘I say she cannot,'' said Soto, stepping up, facing Beck. ‘‘She is with me. She does as I tell her.''

‘‘You brought her in,'' said Beck. ‘‘You said she helps you mix the explosives. As far as I'm concerned she's done her share. That makes her a part of this operation.''

‘‘It's always been that way,'' Collin Hedgepeth said in support. ‘‘Everybody who puts in,
is
in.''

Soto felt the others staring coldly at him, forcing him to back down. This was not the time to cause trouble, knowing they were all still angry at him for killing the unarmed bounty hunters. Spreading his hands, he said, ‘‘All right, she can stay.'' But as he sat down, Clarimonde felt his eyes upon her, and she knew that Soto would not forget this.

‘‘Miss Clair, please have a seat, ma'am,'' said Beck, with authority. ‘‘We all appreciate the fine job you and Suelo have done for us.'' As he spoke, Beck flipped open a wooden crate full of long, empty rawhide pouches.

She knew what Beck had just done was to let Soto know that he had no voice or power in the gang. She also realized Beck was telling her that he'd had enough of Soto's belligerent manner, and now that he had the explosives he needed to do the job, Soto had better walk softly. This was Beck extending his hand to her. Was it time she took it? Yes, she believed it was, she told herself, relaxing down onto a comfortable leather ottoman among the men, avoiding Soto's searing stare.

When the meeting was over and the men had stood up and drifted away into ones and twos, Clarimonde made it a point to stay close to Beck. She did not want to be left alone with Soto after what had taken place. Even though she'd had nothing to do with any of it, she knew how ruthless and deadly he could get in the blink of an eye. She felt relieved to hear Beck tell everyone that tonight, for security's sake, they would all bed down in the large main room.

‘‘Nobody but the trail guard leaves this group tonight. If this job gets discovered, we'll all know it didn't come from anybody here,'' he'd said in ending. His words had been a godsend to Clarimonde. She shuddered at the thought of what dark promise lay in Soto's eyes, were the two of them left by themselves.

‘‘Whoo-ieee,'' said Dave Arken to Bowen Flannery and Earl Caplan, as Clarimonde walked past them to be closer to Beck's side. ‘‘I'm afraid this might be more unstamped Mexican gold coins than I can carry.'' He hefted a handful of the long, rawhide pouches that had been handed out from the wooden crate.

Earl Caplan smiled devilishly. ‘‘If it's too much for you, Dave, I'll be honored to help you carry it.'' He also held a handful of rawhide pouches to be loaded with gold coins from the train robbery.

‘‘What always amazes me,'' said Flannery, ‘‘is how does Memphis get this kind of information?'' He gave a bewildered shrug. ‘‘How does an American railroad sell minted gold to the Mexican government?''

Hearing part of the conversation, Beck stepped over, saying, ‘‘Who else has the means of brokering such a deal? The railroad has the means of transporting this sort of shipment. They can ship it right over onto the Mexican rails without being questioned.''

‘‘But how can the Mexican government pay for something like this?'' Flannery asked. ‘‘They can't afford roads. They can't provide for their people.''

‘‘But even the poorest government always finds ways to deal in gold,'' said Beck. ‘‘It's a fact of life.''

‘‘Yeah,'' said Caplan, ‘‘besides, it ain't the Mexican government paying for it. The Germans are the ones holding the purse strings down here. You can bet they've figured themselves a cut off the top. That's why the coins haven't been stamped, right, Memphis?''