The Copper City - Chris Scott Wilson [41]
“You’re the boss,” Pete said in a voice that stated he didn’t agree.
“The hell with it,” Quantro muttered, suddenly striding into the street.
Pete stepped out after him. “You going to send it?”
“Hell, no, I’m going to wash the dust out of my throat.”
It was early for the saloon to be crowded. As they pushed in through the batwing doors a lone gambler looked up from his hand of patience, but when they ignored him he went back to his cards. At the sound of Pete’s boots rattling on the planking a girl in a red satin dress stopped tinkling on the piano and turned to eye him.
“Two beers,” Quantro instructed the bartender. The girl appeared at his elbow. She squeezed his biceps playfully then leaned forward to display the goods on offer inside her low-necked dress.
“You look strong,” she cooed seductively. “You come looking for a pretty girl to spend money on?”
Quantro said nothing just stared at her. Chestnut hair. For an instant he recalled the saloon girl he had done business with after he had blown Purdy Dale, the man with the scar, to bits with a scattergun in Pueblo on the Arkansas River nearly two years before.
Something ugly must have passed over his face, for the girl’s confidence drained away and she backed off from his chilling eyes.
Pete frowned as he watched her retreat. Quantro, however, acted as though nothing had happened. He reached for his beer and sank a long draught. There was less than a mouthful left in the glass when he stood it back on the bar.
“We’ve got to give it some thought.”
“What?” Quantro asked.
“The wire.”
“What for? I told you I’m not sending it.”
“Maybe Harley thinks the wire we sent from Santa Cruz was just to make it look as though we weren’t in on the job. Maybe he’s got the Pinkertons trailing us already.”
“Never thought of that,” Quantro admitted. He inspected the bottom of his glass and signaled for a refill. “Still, I don’t like telling him we’ve lost them.”
“We don’t have to.”
“Uh?”
Pete had a sly grin hiding among his whiskers. “We could say we’ve found them but they’ve cached the silver and we’re waiting them out.”
“That’d be straight lying.”
“No-o,” Pete drawled, “more sort of optimistic.”
“That’s not how I’m feeling right now.”
Pete shrugged. “Me neither. Okay, so if we don’t find the stone they’re hiding under, later on we say they foxed us again. If we do turn them up, then we weren’t lying at all.”
Quantro considered the old man’s innocent face before he allowed himself a smile. “That’s one way of looking at it.”
“What we got to lose?”
“Nothing.”
“Okay, what the hell, something’ll turn up.”
“I hope so,” Quantro said, hoping just that.
CHAPTER 10
The only rooms in town were at the saloon where they had quenched their thirst. And even then they had to share. While Pete took up their gear Quantro sent the wire, then took the horses to the livery for bedding down.
“This the only livery in town?” he asked the stable hand as he walked along the stalls, checking on a vague hope that Upton’s or Dobey’s horse would be there.
They weren’t.
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay. How much?”
“Four bits a horse.”
“You got it.” He handed over the coins, then hit the street again. No other liveries in town. If they were here, their horses must be stashed some place they didn’t think they would be found. But where? The buckskin was in no shape now, but in the morning after a grain feed it would be fine. He would take a look then.
Back in the saloon, Pete was eating at a corner table.
Quantro glanced apprehensively at the plate. “What is it?”
“Beef stew.”
“Good, I could even eat a beeve still on the hoof.”
Pete made a face. “You’ve come to the right place. This bastard’s still running.” He contemplated the mess.