The Copper City - Chris Scott Wilson [42]
“No steaks?”
“No. Stew. Take it or leave it.”
Quantro sat down and waved to the barkeep for a plate. The same saloon girl who’d tried to pick him up earlier brought the food. When she saw who’d ordered it, she didn’t wait around. Quantro called her back. “There a doctor in town?”
She regarded him warily. “Sure.”
“Where can I find him?”
“End of the street. White place.” She paused a moment, then when his attention switched to his food she turned away.
“Hey.” There was an ominous tone to his voice.
She froze and turned to face him slowly.
“We’ll be needing coffee here,” he smiled.
***
The white paint was peeled by the sun but the house was still whiter than the other clapboard houses. A heavy woman opened the door, an apron girding her thick waist. A strand of dark hair had escaped her bun to hang limply on her coarse cheek.
“The doctor at home?”
“No. What do you want?” she asked suspiciously, her eyes raking Quantro from head to foot.
“When will he be back? We’ve got a sick friend.”
“Oh,” she mouthed. “Well, he had to go out to the Benson place. Mrs. Benson’s expecting her third.”
“When did he leave?”
“Early this morning. One of the hands came for him.” Her expression seemed to say that men don’t understand these things. “He could be away till the morning.”
Quantro nodded and turned away.
“What did you say your name was?” she called after them as they went out on to the street. Quantro turned to close the gate.
“I didn’t,” he smiled.
***
“I’d lay money you checked all the horses in the livery, too,” Pete said.
“No luck. Thought the doctor might know something. Maybe one of them got hit when they were shooting at us in the canyon, or when they were fighting each other in the dry wash. Upton’d rather use a gun than words.”
“Maybe that’s because he don’t know any words.”
“Only the lawman left,” Quantro said, cutting over to where a shingle bore the legend SHERIFF’S OFFICE. The door was open.
A gangling youth was sitting with his boots on the desk. They had seen better days, as had his patched pants and battered felt hat. A deputy’s badge looked as though it was the only thing holding his threadbare shirt together. The youth took one look at the two trail-stained men, picked up the six-gun that had been lying on the desktop and swung his feet to the floor.
“Better leave it alone or you might hurt yourself,” Pete offered from the doorway.
“I’m the law here, mister.”
“Looking for the sheriff,” Quantro said flatly.
“He’s out.”
“I can see that.”
“On business.”
Pete sighed loudly. “My friend here has a short temper, and we’re running out of time. What sort of business and how long has he been gone?”
The boy’s eyes flickered to Quantro’s well-used gun butt, then at the ice-blue eyes. “Truth is, he’s gone out to the creek. Runs west from here to the foothills of the Dragoon Mountains.”
“A fair piece?”
The boy nodded. “But I wouldn’t cause no trouble here. He’ll be back real soon.”
“Gone all day?”
“Fish bite better at noontime.” He realized what he’d said and that it was now too late to keep up the pretense. “He says fishin’ gives him thinking space.” He eyed the gun he’d put back on the desk.
“We just wanted a word, nothing more. If he hasn’t been here all day he can’t help us. We’re looking for two men. You seen any strangers? Would’ve come into town about noon.”
The boy shook his head, no. “You’re the only two strangers I’ve seen today. You bounty hunters?”
“No.” They turned to go. “By the way,” Pete added. “Better put some bullets in that gun next time. You’re lucky we weren’t real bad hombres.”
The boy stared at the closing door, then at the gun. The stranger was right. It was empty. How had he known?
“Seems like we ain’t getting lucky,” Pete commented as they headed back toward the saloon. Quantro didn’t answer. Pete glanced at him. “You sure are quiet.”
“A man don’t learn anything by talking all the time. Sometimes he has to shut his mouth and listen.”
“You telling me I’m talking too much?”
“Can’t tell whether you’re trying