Midnight Rider (Ralph Cotton Western Series) (15 page)

“We ran into trouble,” Casings said.

Rochenbach sat watching, listening. His Spencer rifle lay across his lap. His hand rested on the small of the stock, his thumb near the hammer.

“Yeah? What kind of trouble?” Denton Spiller asked, eyeing Rochenbach sourly.

“We found Bonham and Batts lying dead on the trail down from Apostle Camp,” he said.

Rochenbach saw the three outlaws give one another a guarded look. Giant and Casings saw it too.

“Hey! It’s the damn truth,” the Giant’s big voice boomed out. He stepped his horse forward menacingly.

The three almost stepped their horses back. But they managed to hold ground long enough for Penta to raise a hand toward the Giant.

“Take it easy, big fellow!” he said. “We saw them lying there ourselves.”

The Giant eased down and sat staring. Rochenbach stared with his hand still on his rifle.

“You did?” asked Casings.

“That’s right, we saw them lying there,” said Spiller. “Only difference is we rode on home like we was told to.”

“We heard all the shooting coming down another trail,” said Shaner. “It took us a while, but we crossed trails, rode over to see what it was about.” He shook his head. “We figured you’d been there and was gone
already. We kept expecting to catch up to yas along the trail back here.”

Casings took an easier breath. Rochenbach let histhumb move an inch farther away from his rifle ham-mer.

“We went after the money,” Casings said. “Couldn’t see letting them get away with it.”

“It was Dirty Dave Alto,” said the Giant.

“I know,” said Penta. “Dent here climbed down the rope hanging there and struck a match.”

“Yeah,” said Spiller, “Dirty Dave was hanging over a rock edge—deader than hell.”

“Speaking of the money, where is it?” Shaner asked, looking their horses over for the saddlebags.

“It’s gone,” said Casings.

“
Gone?
” said Penta.

“You heard me,” said Casings. He nudged his horse forward, through explaining himself. The others turned their horses and rode alongside him. Rochenbach and the Giant stuck close.

“We caught up to Macon Ray and two other bummers at Apostle Camp,” he said. “They’re dead. But we never found the money on them.”

“Did you search around the old mines—?”

“We searched, Frank,” Casings said flatly, cutting him off. “And that’s all the talking we’re doing for now. We’ve got to tell the whole story all over again to Grolin when we get there.” He looked Penta up and down and said, “So, he’s fit to be tied over us not riding straight back?”

Penta shrugged and said, “He knows what happened to Bonham and Batts. He was boiling mad
because you didn’t do like he told you. I expect he’s settled some by now.”

“He said, ‘Escort you home,’” Spiller threw in to Casings, looking Rochenbach up and down. “He said bring you and Giant straight to him.”

“What about Rock?” the Giant asked.

“I expect Rochenbach will have to see him when it’s his turn,” Spiller said scornfully. His face still carried the bruises Rochenbach had given him.

Rochenbach stared at him, making sure Spiller saw him looking at the long purple welt on the side of his head. Then he gave him a short, thin smile and turned his gaze back toward Denver City standing in the distance before them.

They rode on.

From his office on the second floor atop the Lucky Nut Saloon, Andrew Grolin looked out through a wavy windowpane and saw the riders approaching on the trail running west of town. Rochenbach, Casings and the Stillwater Giant rode at the head of the men. The others were gathered up loosely behind them.

“Well, well, Mr. Walker,” Grolin said over his shoulder. “Speak of the devil, and who shall arrive…?”

Behind him, the secretary to the director of the Denver Mint and Essay Office, Inman S. Walker, stood up from beside Grolin’s desk and walked over beside him. Walker wore a fake goatee and mustache, a theatrical prop held in place by soft makeup wax. The unstableness of the mustache kept him pressing his fingertips to his mouth to keep it from dangling from his lip.

“So that is our burglar,” he said, leaning forward and looking out the window. “And you have no doubt now that he is up to doing this job?”

“My men tell me he walked through Hercules Mining’s safe like it was a lace curtain.” He smiled proudly.

“Then I see no reason to put this off any longer, do you?” Walker asked.

“No,” said Grolin, “we proceed now as planned. The next time you see me, I will have turned your share of the gold ingots into cash.” He smiled and stuck his cigar into his mouth. “Unless you’d prefer to carry your loot around in a freight wagon instead of a leather satchel.”

“A leather satchel will suit me fine,” said Walker, stepping back from the dust-streaked window. “I have to admit, I’m still a little unsettled by this fellow being a former Pinkerton detective.”

“Don’t let it bother you,” said Grolin. “I’ve had him checked head to toe. Everybody says the same thing. He’s a straight-up
rogue.
” Staring out the window at Rochenbach, he smiled and added, “I wish I had a dozen like him.”

Walker gave him an apprehensive look, touching his fingertips nervously to his fake mustache.

“But you said after this is over…” He let his words trail.

“I know what I said, Walker,” Grolin replied, taking his cigar from his mouth and holding it in the scissors of his thick fingers. “Don’t worry about how I handle my employees. Don’t worry about
anything
, except how you’re going to spend all this big money.”
He looked Walker up and down, then added, “Of course, I suppose the bulk of your loot will have to go to the Golden Circle Ring, eh?”

“How greatly I support the Golden Circle is entirely my own concern, Grolin,” Walker said, jutting his chin.

“No offense,” Grolin said with a slight chuckle. “We all have our vices.”

“I hardly call supporting the Golden Circle a
vice
,” said Walker. “We are the ideology that will lead this nation to its rightful place in history. Someday you will thank us for what we’ve done for this country.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever your world deserves,” Grolin said dismissingly. He smiled and puffed on his cigar. “You best get out of here before these men arrive. They see the fake facial hair, they’ll think you’ve gotten too personal with a groundhog.”

“I don’t find that sort of coarse frontier banter at all amusing,” said Walker, again pressing his fingertips to his fake mustache. “But all the same, you’re right, I should be going.” He turned and picked up his coat and black derby hat from a chair.

“I’ll see you again when we’re both rich,” Grolin said as Walker put on his coat and hat and headed out the door.

Once Grolin was alone, he looked back out the window, down at Rochenbach and his men as they rode up to the iron hitch rail out front and stepped down from their saddles.

Out in front of the Lucky Nut, Rochenbach, Casings and the Giant tied their horses’ reins and walked inside, following Spiller and Frank Penta.

As they crossed the floor toward the bar, Penta and Bryce Shaner directed Casings and the Giant toward the stairs up to Grolin’s office. Spiller and the others veered over to the bar, keeping Rochenbach in their midst.

“What about Rock?” the Stillwater Giant asked, stopping at the foot of the stairs as if taking firm position on an issue. He looked at Penta standing before him and Casings, and at Shaner standing behind them. Both carried rifles in their hands.

“Let Spiller and the boys buy your pal a drink,” Shaner said. His right hand held his Winchester in such a way that offered a quick rise to the Giant’s chest if he wanted. Watching, Rochenbach saw his thumb slide over the rifle’s hammer.

“Rock and I stick together,” the Giant said in his
deep, strong voice. “If he stays down here and drinks, so do I.”

“It that a fact?” said Shaner, raising his rifle an inch, threateningly. He gave the Giant a dark stare. “I didn’t know you two were so sweet on each other.”

The Giant returned Shaner’s gaze. “I bet you didn’t know I can turn a rifle barrel into a necktie either.” He took a step toward Shaner, his big hands spread.

Casings saw fear sweep over Shaner’s face, standing under the Giant’s looming shadow. But fear or no fear, he knew Shaner wouldn’t hesitate a second at pulling the Winchester’s trigger.

“Hey, come on, big fellow!” said Casings, stepping in between the two, putting a flat hand on the Giant’s stomach, as if to hold back a leaning boulder. “This isn’t the time or place to go ruining a man’s repeating rifle.”

“Let him go,” Penta said to Casings, in a calm but sinister tone, a sly half smile on his face. “Shaner and I can handle ourselves.”

“So can I,” Casings said, returning Penta’s threat. His right hand wrapped around his gun butt. But he kept leaning, holding the Giant back, knowing if the big man wanted to, he could brush him aside.

Rochenbach shot a glance around at the other gunmen, aware they would side with Penta and Shaner when the shooting started.

“Hey,
Giant
,” he called out from his spot at the bar, “can’t I get myself a drink without you two hanging at my elbow?”

The gunmen around Rochenbach chuckled; Giant
heard them and gave Rochenbach a strange, hurt look.

Casings also shot him a look. But he quickly saw what Rochenbach was doing and he homed right in on it.

“Yeah, Giant,” he said, “come on. Grolin wants to talk to us first, not him.”

The Giant settled, stunned and red-faced at Rochenbach’s words, and at the ripple of laughter from the other gunmen.

“You—you mean that, Rock?” he asked.

“Jesus!
Yes
, he means it, Giant,” said Casings. He gave the Giant a friendly punch on his hard stomach. “What’s he got to do to make you understand?”

“Is that right, Rock?” the Giant said, staring at Rochenbach with a hurt look.

Rochenbach didn’t answer. He picked up a shot of whiskey Grolin’s bartender poured for him and tossed it back.
Man, this hurts…,
he told himself. Seeing the look on the Giant’s big, childlike face, he nodded toward the upper landing, where Grolin waited in his office.

“Get on up the stairs, Giant,” he said. “We work for the same man, don’t we?”

Watching through a peep-slot in his office wall overlooking the saloon, Andrew Grolin smiled to himself as he saw Rochenbach turn to face the bar for a refill. He stood watching a moment longer as the Giant and Casings walked up the stairs, Penta and Shaner front and rear of them. Then he slid the peep-slot shut and walked behind his desk as the sound
of their boots wound the hallway and stopped at his door.

“Come in,” he replied gruffly to the knock on his office door.

Frank Penta swung the door open and walked in, followed by Casings, the Giant, then Shaner, who closed the door and started over toward the desk with the others.

“That’s all for you two,” Grolin said to Penta and Shaner. “How far out did you run into my
missing
gunmen?” he asked as the riflemen started to turn and leave.

“Three miles, four maybe.” Penta shrugged. He looked at Casings and added, “They were coming from the direction they should’ve been.”

“Well… that’s good to hear,” said Grolin. He grinned, took a cigar from his coat pocket, sniffed it lengthwise and nodded Shaner and Penta on toward the door. “Take care of things, get ready to ride.”

“Sure thing,” said Penta, reaching for the doorknob.

Ready to ride…?
Casings repeated to himself, curiously.

When the door shut behind them, Grolin noted the questioning look on Casings’ face.

“Yeah, ready to ride. You heard me right,” he said as if answering Casings’ thoughts. “We’re still doing business here. Did you think the world would stop because you two and Avrial Rochenbach weren’t around to keep it rolling?”

“No,” said Casings, “I was just curious, thinking you were talking about the big job.”

“No, I wasn’t,” Grolin said in a short tone. He bit the end off the cigar and stuck it into his mouth. “Now, what the hell happened up there at Hercules?”

“It sounds like you already heard everything that happened,” Casings answered, “except that Rock, the Giant and I went off after Macon Ray and his gunmen.”

“Against my orders, you forgot to mention,” Grolin added for him. “But I suppose that was all Rochenbach’s fault?”

He pulled a match from inside his coat, struck it along the edge of his desk and lit his cigar. Casings watched, gauging Grolin’s voice and demeanor, deciding he wasn’t in any dark, terrible rage over what had happened. This was anger for the show of anger.

“No, it was
my
idea to go after them,” Casings said.

“Yeah, mine too,” said the Giant, “not Rock’s.”

“I saw how much money was in that safe, boss,” said Casings. “I figured there was no way you’d want that much money to get away from you.”

“So everything you two did, it was all for my sake, huh?” Grolin said dubiously.

“Not just for your sake,” Casings said. “It was for all of us. Rock did say he couldn’t let that much money slip through his hands—I couldn’t blame him.”