the Outlaws Of Mesquite (Ss) (1990) (2 page)

Jennie looked at him quickly. "No, I guess not. You look like an honest man. Also I'm remembering you treat your horses kind. I trust you. Anyway," she added, "there's nobody else."

He grinned. "That makes it simple. You be there, now. We may have to ride fast."

When Milt Cogar had his horses bedded down on the edge of Mesquite, he studied the place warily. There was a saloon, a general store, a blacksmith shop, and an eating house. Leaving his carbine concealed near a clump of mesquite, he hitched his guns to an easier position and headed up the street. A heavy-bodied man with a stubble of beard showed on the saloon stoop. Milt avoided the place, rightly guessing it would be Spencer's hangout, and walked to the restaurant and went in.

A fat man with freckles and a fringe of sandy hair around a bald spot was cooking over an iron range. He glanced up.

"Fix me some grub," Milt suggested. "I'm sure hungry."

Red nodded briefly and, grabbing a big plate, ladled out a thick chunk of beef, a couple of scoops of beans, and some potatoes. Then he poured a cup of coffee from a battered coffeepot and picked up some sourdough bread.

Cogar ate in silence for a while, then glanced up.

"You one of Dan Spencer's outfit?"

Red stiffened. "I run my own shebang. If Spencer wants to eat, I feed him. That's all I have to do with him."

"I heard this was his town."

"It is. All but me." The door pushed open as he spoke, and Thacker came in. He sat down heavily on a chair across the table from Milt Cogar.

"Nice horses you got," he said tentatively.

Milt glanced up, taking in Thacker with a glance.

"They'll do," he agreed.

"Don't need a hand, do you? Sixteen horses are a bunch for one man."

"My horses are gentle. I can handle them."

Thacker's face flushed a slow red, and he glanced toward the sandy-haired cook. He said softly:

"I could use a mite of work now. I'm sort of short."

Milt Cogar could sense the big man's embarrassment and it stirred his quick generosity.

"Might lend you a bit," he suggested, keeping his own voice low. "Would ten dollars help?"

Thacker's face glowed red, but there was surprise and gratitude in his eyes. "I ain't no hand to borry," he said, "and you ridin' through like you are."

He spoke hesitantly. "I reckon I hadn't better."

Cogar pushed a gold piece across the table.

"Take it, man, and welcome. I've been staked a couple of times with no chance to pay back, so forget about paying me. When you have it, stake some other hombre."

When Thacker had gone, Red turned around. "Heard that," he said, then jerked his head toward the way Thacker had gone. "He ain't much good, either, but he's got him a boy he fair worships.

He'll buy grub for that kid with the money, you can bank on it."

It was later, by the corral, that Thacker had come to Cogar with his warning. It was unnecessary, for Milt knew what he was facing. He also knew he was going to ride out of that town with Jennie Lewis or there would be blood on the streets. Yet he was no fighting man unless pushed. He wanted to get her away without trouble, yet when he faced the facts, he knew that Spencer grated on his nerves, that the thought of the man ruling the helpless people of the town angered him.

Carefully, he looked over his horses, checking to see if any had injured feet, and stopping to talk and pet each one of them. They were fine stock, and would sell well, yet he never gentled a bunch like this without hating to part with them.

Up the street he could see lights going on in the saloon. He felt better with the meal under his belt, and he inspected his gun again. Spencer, Record, and Martinez, and half the town at least in cahoots with them. Nor could he expect any help. It was his game.

Milt backed up against a corral post and faced the town. He could watch from here. The horses liked to see him close. He dozed a little, knowing trouble would come later, if at all. For a while they would wait for him at the saloon, and that was a place he had no intention of going.

Darkness crawled over the hills and pushed patrols of shadow between the buildings and along the edge of the woods. More lights came on. Behind him a horse stamped and blew, and somewhere out on the desert, a blue quail called softly, inquiringly.

It was very quiet. A tin bucket rattled somewhere, and he could smell the oil on his guns. Once he got up and walked among his horses, talking softly to them. His eyes shifted toward the light in the cabin where Jennie lived.

It seemed strange, having a woman to think about.

He was a lonely man, and like so many lonely men he knew how to
value love, attention, and the nearness of someone. He remembered the dusty spun gold of her hair, and the slim figure under the faded dress.

There was something fine about her, something that spoke of another world than the world of
Mesquite
, Dan Spencer, and his followers.

He grinned ruefully. After all, she was not his to think about. He had only offered to help her, and once she was safely away-well, who was he to expect interest from such a girl as that?

A door opened and closed, and he glanced toward the saloon, making out a dark figure on the porch.

The pale blotch above it was the man's face, looking toward him. Yet the watcher could not see Milt, for the blackness of his body would merge with the blackness of the corral corner.

They were beginning to wonder if he was coming, and when. He sat perfectly still, keeping his ears ready for the slightest sound. He did not look directly at the figure, but near it, and he did not allow his gaze to become fixed. He must be wary and ready always.

Had it not been for the weariness of his horses he might have started with Jennie at night, but the horses needed rest, and tomorrow would be a hard, long day. Doubly hard if Spencer elected to pursue.

The man on the porch returned inside, and Milt Cogar arose and moved around to get the stiffness from his muscles. Suddenly, an idea came to him, and he turned toward the corral, staring within. His own horses were outside, but inside were a half-dozen cow ponies used by Spencer and others. For an instant, Cogar considered, and then he got busy.

A sorrel with a white face had stayed close to the corral bars and several times he had patted it a little. Now he went inside and, catching the halter, led it out and tied it near his own horses. By soft talk and easy movements, he succeeded in getting two more outside where he tied them in plain view of the saloon. Then he took the first four of his own horses and, walking them carefully, led them away down the trail.

When he was out of sight of the town, he tied them and returned. In four trips he had led all of his own horses to the same place. Then he untied the first four, knowing they would stay together. After that he walked back and saddled his gray gelding. The paint he had caught earlier was already saddled and waiting.

He had bought the extra saddle from a busted cowhand down Las Vegas way, but now it was to come in handy.

He retrieved his rifle and slid it into the scabbard. Then he sat down and lit a cigarette.

Twice in the next hour or so a man came to the saloon door and looked out. Each time he let the cigarette glow brightly.

From where he sat he could see the corner of the water trough in the corral, and a glow caught his eye. For a few minutes he studied it curiously, and then recognized it. The glow was that greenish, phosphorescent light from damp, rotten wood, such as he had often seen in swampy country, or after a period of heavy rains. Many times he had seen branches like that, greenish, ghostly fingers reaching into the darkness.

It gave him another idea and he got to his feet again and walked off a short distance. It was still visible.

This would be just the added touch he would need to make his escape effective. He broke off a small bit of the wood and fastened it into the corral post where he had been sitting, and then moved out into the street.

The glow was still visible, not so bright as a cigarette, but enough to fool anyone taking a casual glance toward the corral. They were, he was sure, waiting for him to fall asleep.

Once the phosphorescent wood was in place, he moved swiftly. Getting into the saddle, he led the gray horse behind him and moved across the valley toward the Peters cabin, where Jennie Lewis lived. Dismounting then, he concealed his horses in the timber, and moved up to the house. A quick glance through the windows, and he saw no one but Jennie, carrying dishes away from the table, and the two older people.

Stepping up to the back door, he tapped gently.

There was a moment of silence within, then a question. "Who is it?" At his reply, the door opened and he stepped inside.

"We've got to go now," he said quickly. "My horses aren't ready for it, but Spencer's bunch are watching me, and we've got a chance to get away that may give us an hour or so of start."

Joe Peters was staring at him, his face pale.

"Hope you make it!" he said. "I hate to think what Spencer will do when we don't tell him you're gone! He's apt to kill us both, or whup us!"

"We'll fix that," Cogar replied. "We'll tie you both. You can say I threw a gun on you."

"Sure!" Peters said. "Sure thing!"

He turned to his wife, "Mom, you let me tie you, and then this hombre can tie me."

Jennie had not hesitated. When he spoke she had turned and gone into her room, and now she came out.

Startled, he saw she had a pistol belt around her hips.

"Pa's gun," she said, at his question. "It might come in handy!"

They rode swiftly until they reached the edge of the settlement, and then swung around toward where Milt Cogar had left his horses. As they drew alongside, Milt got down to unfasten the ropes that tied them in groups of four. They might have to run, and he wanted nothing to tangle them up.

Suddenly, a dark figure moved from the shadow of the mesquite, and a low voice spoke softly.

"I've got you covered. If you move I'll shoot!"

It was not Dan Spencer. But Record, perhaps?

"Who's moving?" he said calmly. "You're doin' a fool thing, buttin' in on this deal."

"Am I?" The man stepped out from the darkness of the mesquite, and Cogar could see his face. The man was slim, wiry, and hard-jawed. The gun he held brooked no argument. "Anyway, I'm in. Dan Spencer will be pleased to find I've stopped you from gettin' away with his girl."

Milt Cogar held himself very still. There was only one way he could come out of this alive, and it required a gamble with his life at stake. The moment would come. In the meanwhile, he tried the other way, for which he had no hope.

"Folks won't let you steal this girl," he said.

"They'll stand for everything but that."

"They'll stand for that, too," the man said. "Now turn around!"

"Stay where you are!" Jennie's voice was low, penetrating. "Johnny Record, I've got you covered. Drop that gun or I'll kill you!"

Record stiffened, but before he could realize that as long as Cogar was covered there was a stalemate, the girl's voice snapped again.

"You drop that gun before I count three or I'll shoot! One! Two! Thr-was Her count ended as Record let go of his gun.

Milt stepped up and retrieved it. Swiftly then, he spun Record around and tied him tightly, hand and foot.

In the saddle and moving away, he glanced through the darkness toward Jennie. "I reckon as a hero I don't count for much, you gettin' us out of that fix!"

"What else could I do? Anyway, I'd never have had the courage unless you were taking me away like this.

With a man to help, I'm brave enough, I guess."

They rode on, holding a steady if not fast pace.

There was small chance of them losing any pursuit.

That would have to be met when it came. He couldn't leave his horses behind, for they were all he had. He might need the money from their sale to help Jennie.

She would be friendless and alone.

The desert was wide and white in the moonlight, with only the dark, beckoning fingers of the giant cactuses or the darker blotches of the mesquite or distant mountains. He turned off the trail he had been following, heading into the canyon country. This would be rough going, but there were places ahead where one might stand off an army.

Foothills crept out into the desert toward them, and they started the horses into a deep draw between two parted arms of hills. The rock walls grew higher and higher, and they lost the light, having only a small rectangle of starlit sky overhead.

Milt took no time to rest, but pushed the horses relentlessly, taking no time for anything but getting on.

He knew where he was going, and he knew he must make it by daylight. Jennie said nothing, but he could sense her weariness, judging it to an extent by his own, for her strength would not be equal to his.

Finally, the canyon opened out into a wide flat valley in the mountains, and he moved the horses into the tall grass, giving them no rest, but pushing them diagonally across it. They were mounting toward the far wall of the valley before he drew up.