The Pinkerton Job Page 3

  Siringo slid between the sheets. It felt too good after so many days on the trail, and tomorrow night he’d be back on the hard ground. He didn’t know whether to sleep on the floor, or go ahead and enjoy the mattress for the one night. Before he could make up his mind, he fell asleep.

  EIGHT

  When Clint came down to the lobby the next morning, he found Siringo waiting for him. Charlie was wearing the same clothes he’d had on the day before. He obviously hadn’t had a chance to bathe, or buy clean duds.

  “How’s Horn?” he asked.

  “He was okay last night,” Siringo said. “Ate a big steak, had a few drinks, then fell right to sleep.”

  “He’s going to be stiff this morning.”

  “I know,” Siringo said, “but I learned a long time ago never to underestimate him. Besides, he’s younger than we are.”

  Both Siringo and Horn were younger than Clint, but Horn was the one who was not yet thirty. Maybe that would work in his favor when it came to healing.

  “Let’s get some breakfast,” Siringo said. “Then we can bring him some eggs and see how he’s doin’.”

  The hotel didn’t have a dining room so Siringo took Clint to the same café he had gotten Horn’s steak from. The waiter there told him not to worry about the tray; someone from the hotel would bring it back.

  They got seated among the other diners. Clint had his usual steak and eggs while Horn went for bacon and eggs. When the waiter set a basket of hot biscuits on the table, they both attacked them.

  “Tell me about Sandusky,” Clint said.

  “He’s a hard man,” Siringo said. “Forty or so, been on his own a long time. No relatives. He’s a killer, and he’s crafty. Up to now nobody’s been able to catch him.”

  “We’re going to change that,” Clint said. “What about his men?”

  “He grabs ’em where he can,” Siringo said. “The only one who rides with him all the time is a fella named Cal Anderson.”

  “Don’t know him.”

  “They’re friends, been ridin’ together since the war,” Siringo said.

  “That’s a long time.”

  “The others come and go,” Siringo said. “Sometimes Sandusky and Anderson just get rid of them.”

  “Kill them, you mean?”

  Siringo nodded.

  “When they get tired of sharin’ the proceeds of their jobs,” Siringo said. “That’s what I hear anyway.”

  “You wonder what makes anybody follow someone like that,” Clint said.

  “They all think it won’t happen to them,” Siringo said. “They think they’ll get rich and ride away, but a lot of them don’t make it in time.”

  “Who sent you out on this job, Charlie?”

  “William.”

  “Still running the Chicago branch?”

  “Pretty much. Him and Robert are runnin’ the whole agency.”

  “How do you think he’ll react when he hears about me?” Clint asked.

  “I ain’t gonna tell ’im,” Siringo said. “Not yet anyway. If I do, it’ll be after the job is over.”

  They finished their breakfast and washed it down with a last cup of coffee.

  “Okay,” Siringo said, “we better go up and see how Horn’s doin’.”

  They got a plate of bacon and eggs, a mug, and a pot of coffee and headed up to Tom Horn’s room.

  * * *

  Tom Horn couldn’t move.

  He woke up lying on his good side, opened his eyes, and looked around. He didn’t try to move right away. He felt all right if he lay perfectly still. The next step would be to try to move.

  First he used his hand to feel his thigh. It was still wrapped tightly, and as he ran his fingers over the skin, he could feel his fingertips. That was good. The doctor told him to come back if the leg felt numb. Next, he tried to move the injured leg, ended up gritting his teeth at the pain. It was stiff, and it hurt to move, but he flexed it, then flexed it again. It wasn’t as bad the second time as the first, so he did it again.

  Not too bad.

  Next he had to roll onto his back. He did that slowly, and not without some pain, not only in his leg, but also in his back. He felt stiff, but he knew he’d feel that, and he knew he’d feel pain. What he didn’t want to do was start bleeding again.

  He stayed on his back, staring at the ceiling, catching his breath. There was some sweat on his brow, and he waited for that to cool before he tried anything else.

  Next would come sitting and then, finally, standing.

  * * *

  Clint carried the tray, and as they got to the door, Siringo used the key to unlock it. They walked in and stopped short when they saw Tom Horn on his feet.

  “Well, well,” Siringo said. “How long did it take you to stand up?”

  “Long enough,” Horn said. “I’m just tryin’ to walk out the stiffness.”

  As if to illustrate his point, he walked across the room, stiff-legged but steady.

  “Looks good,” Siringo said. “We brought you some eggs and bacon.”

  “Good,” Horn said. “I’m hungry.”

  “Sit on the bed,” Clint said.

  They watched him carefully as he walked to the bed and slowly sat down. He kept his weight away from the wounded thigh. Clint gave him his tray and he started to devour the eggs and bacon.

  “Think you can sit a horse?” Siringo asked.

  “I’m gonna try,” Horn said. “But just in case . . .”

  “Just in case what?” Siringo asked.

  “Well, if I start bleeding on the trail, we’re gonna have to rewrap this wound.”

  “I’ll go over to the doc’s and get some extra bandages,” Siringo said.

  “Thanks,” Horn said. He looked at Clint. “You still comin’?”

  “I’m coming.”

  “Good,” Horn said. “We can walk over to the livery for the horses.”

  “You two still got your horses?”

  “Yeah,” Siringo said, “the same ranch hands who found us rode ’em down and caught ’em.”

  Horn popped the last piece of bacon into his mouth and set the tray aside. Clint and Siringo watched him carefully as he got to his feet. He picked up his gun belt and strapped it on.

  “Tom,” Clint said, “you could bleed to death.”

  “That’s why we’re gettin’ the extra bandages,” Horn said. “If I can sit a horse, boys, I’m ridin’ along.”

  “Okay,” Siringo said. “We better get goin’.”

  The three of them walked out the door and down into the lobby, moving at Horn’s pace.

  Outside Siringo said, “I’ll go to the doc’s and meet you at the stable.”

  “We’ll have the horses saddled,” Clint said.

  NINE

  Horn was willing to step aside while Clint saddled the horses, but when it came time to mount, he insisted on doing it himself.

  “If I can’t even get on,” he said, “I’ve got no business going.”

  Clint agreed and withdrew his helpful hand.

  Horn hesitated, trying to decide how to do it. Normally he put his left leg—the injured leg—into the stirrup, and lifted himself into the saddle. He could have walked around to the other side and mounted using his right leg, but in the end he just went for it. If the wound exploded . . . he might as well find out now.

  He put his left leg in the stirrup, grabbed the saddle with both hands, and lifted, taking as much of his weight as he could on his arms. He swung his right leg over, and just like that, he was mounted, and there was no explosion of blood.

  “How was it?” Clint asked.

  “Surprisingly,” Horn said, “not bad.”

  “Come on,” Clint said, “we’ll wait for Charlie outside.”

  * * *

  Siringo accepte
d the extra bandages from the doctor, who also instructed him on the proper way to wrap the leg.

  “And put some of this on the wound,” he added, handing Siringo a jar of ointment. “It should keep it from becoming infected.”

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  “The man’s a fool,” the doctor said. “Somewhere along the line, he’s gonna have to pay for this.”

  “Well,” Siringo said, “we’ll help him as much as we can.”

  “He’ll need it.”

  “Thanks again, Doc.”

  Siringo settled the bill with the doctor, and headed for the livery stable.

  * * *

  While Horn remained mounted, Clint stood holding the reins of Eclipse and Siringo’s horse. The detective appeared, carrying a bundle. They each had some supplies in their saddlebags, which Siringo had purchased the day before.

  “How did he get up there?” Siringo asked.

  “All by himself,” Clint said.

  “Well, he ain’t fallen off yet, so I guess he’s okay.”

  Siringo walked to his horse and stuffed the bundle into his saddlebag. He took the reins of his horse from Clint and mounted up. Clint walked Eclipse away from the other two and swung himself into the saddle.

  “We got everythin’ we need?” Horn asked.

  “Pretty much,” Siringo said.

  “Then we better get goin’.”

  Clint and Siringo both looked at Horn. There was no telling how he’d react to the rigors of riding. Just the bouncing up and down could start him bleeding or, at the very least, cause him pain.

  “Tom,” Siringo said, “let’s just take it easy to start and see how your leg responds. Whataya say?”

  “Sure,” Horn said, “makes sense.”

  “Where do we start?” Clint asked.

  “Right where they bushwacked us,” Siringo said. “We should be able to pick up their trail from there.”

  “I’ll take the lead,” Horn said. “That way if I fall off my horse, you’ll see me.”

  TEN

  They rode at Horn’s pace. Clint figured Horn took the lead because that was where he was accustomed to being, but also so they wouldn’t be able to see the expression on his face.

  “How’s he look to you?” Siringo asked, keeping his voice low.

  “He’s sitting okay,” Clint said. “I guess we’ll really find out when we start to ride faster.”

  “I can hear you both back there,” Horn said. “If you got somethin’ to say, just say it.”

  “We was just sayin’ you’re lookin’ good, Tom,” Siringo said.

  “How do you feel?”

  “I’m fine,” Horn said. “Just stop mutterin’ behind me.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Siringo said.

  * * *

  When they reached the point where Siringo and Horn were bushwacked, Horn remained mounted while Clint and Siringo stepped down.

  “This is where they got us,” Siringo said.

  Clint could still see some blood on the ground. He wondered how much of it belonged to Siringo and Horn.

  “Looks like you might have done okay,” he said. “There’s enough blood to indicate you hit some of them.”

  “If I know Sandusky,” Siringo said, “he’s already replaced those men.”

  Horn was riding his horse in circles, studying the ground.

  “Tom?” Siringo yelled.

  “I got ’em,” Horn said. “Ten, twelve horses. Doesn’t look like they left anybody behind.”

  “Which way are they headed?” Clint asked.

  “South.”

  “South it is,” Siringo said.

  The detective and Clint mounted up, rode to join Tom Horn.

  “I was thinkin’ they might go north, back to where they came from, since they thought we was dead, but no.”

  “Maybe,” Siringo said, “they ain’t assumin’ we’re dead.”

  “Then why didn’t they finish us off?”

  “I don’t know,” Siringo said.

  “Well then,” Horn said, “we should just get started trackin’ them. Maybe at some point they’ll double back.”

  “Maybe,” Siringo said.

  But by the time the sun started to go down, the tracks still had not doubled back. The Sandusky gang was still heading south.

  “We better camp here,” Siringo said.

  “I’m fine,” Horn said. “Don’t stop on my account.”

  “I ain’t,” Siringo said. “It’s just time.”

  They reined their horses in, and Clint and Siringo dismounted first. They both watched as Horn stepped down, and both saw the red stain on his trousers.

  “When did that start bleedin’?” Siringo asked.

  “What?” Horn touched his thighs, his hand coming away red, then saw the red smear on his saddle. “Damn, I didn’t even feel it.”

  “We better take a look at it,” Siringo said. “We’ll need a fire.”

  “I’ll see to the fire,” Clint said.

  “I’ll take the horses,” Siringo said. “Tom, just settle down somewhere.”

  “There’s a stream,” Horn said. “I can get some water.”

  “Just sit down somewhere,” Siringo said. “Don’t be a fool and make it any worse.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  Clint got the fire going, and then went and got the water. Siringo got all three horses unloaded, rubbed down, and picketed. Then he carried the saddlebags to the fire.

  “You see to Tom’s leg,” Clint said. “I’ll cook.”

  “I remember that trail coffee of yours,” Siringo said. “You could clean your gun with it.”

  “I’ll take it easy,” Clint promised.

  Siringo walked over to Horn, who had found a boulder to sit on.

  “Gotta get them trousers down, Tom,” Siringo said.

  “Yeah, okay.” Horn stood stiffly, undid his gun belt and belt, and lowered his trousers.

  Siringo tossed the man’s bedroll down and said, “Lie on that.”

  Horn got down on his stomach and Siringo began to unwrap the bloody bandage. Clint brought over some water so Siringo could clean the wound.

  “I didn’t realize that bullet took such a chunk out of you, Tom,” Siringo said. “Damn, you should be in bed, resting and healing.”

  “Just do what you can and wrap it,” Horn said.

  “Okay.”

  “And then I want to eat.”

  Siringo cleaned the wound, applied the salve the doctor had given him, then put a clean bandage in place and wrapped it as tightly as he could.

  “You got another pair of trousers?” he asked Horn.

  “No.”

  “Damn,” Siringo said, “I’ll have to go to the stream and do your laundry. You’ll have to eat in your skivvies.”

  “As long as I get to eat.”

  Horn got himself up again and sat on the boulder, keeping his bandaged leg straight out, with no pressure on the wound.

  Siringo went down to the stream and soaked Horn’s trousers, trying to get as much of the blood out as he could.

  By the time he got back, he could smell the bacon and beans Clint had prepared, and Horn was already working on a plate. Clint handed one to Siringo as he approached the fire.

  “How’s it look?” Clint asked, referring to Horn’s wound.

  “Bad,” Siringo said, “but I didn’t see none of what the doctor said infection would look like.”

  “Well, that’s good anyway.”

  Clint stuffed some bacon and beans into his mouth as Siringo sipped his coffee.

  “Oh, Jesus,” the detective said. “You sonofabitch.”

  “It’s good for you,” Clint said. “Make a man of you.”

  “Damn!” Siringo put the cup down between his fe
et on the ground. Clint knew he’d finish it and ask for more.

  “If the gang keeps going south,” Clint said, “maybe they’re headed for Lincoln County to do some rustling there.”

  “Could be.”

  “Although it might be better if they double back.”

  “Either way,” Siringo said, “we’ll catch up to them.”

  “Sounds like this might be personal for you and Horn now.”

  “Every job is a little personal,” Siringo said.

  “Yeah, but you don’t get shot in every job,” Clint said. “Speaking of which, how’s your arm?”

  “It’s fine,” Siringo said, picking up his coffee cup. “If it starts to hurt, I can just pour some of this on it. That should take care of any infection.”

  ELEVEN

  Harlan Sandusky looked out the window of his cabin. It was a shack, really, just barely standing. The rest of the men were camped outside, but Sandusky was the leader, so he slept inside.

  He stared out the window at his men and knew they were a motley lot. Still, they didn’t have to be smart to rustle cattle. That was his part.

  He saw his segundo, Cal Anderson, walking among the men, talking to some, barking at others. Anderson kept the men in line, and was the only man Sandusky trusted.

  He turned and looked at the woman in the room. Delilah West was the only female member of the gang. As such, she was the one who had to make Sandusky the happiest.

  She was sitting on his cot, wearing only a pair of jeans. Her feet were bare, and so were her big breasts. Sandusky, who was totally naked, walked up to her, his raging hard cock leading the way. As he approached her, she smiled. She was forty, missing a few teeth, and her face and body were dirty and sweaty. He wished she was prettier, but she wasn’t exactly ugly. Maybe just plain. But she had a wide mouth with full lips, and when she wrapped them around his cock, he forgot about pretty or ugly. He reached down to squeeze her breasts and nipples while she sucked him eagerly, holding on to the base of his huge cock with both hands. The shack was eventually filled with wet, sloppy noises.