batwing doors and went up to the bar, there was only one man in the place aside
from the bartender. He was a long, dun man with a reddish mustache and a droll,
quizzical expression to his eyes.
“Buy you a drink?” I suggested.
He looked at me thoughtfully. “Don’t mind if I do.” And then he said, “Passin’
through?”
“Mostly,” I said, “but what I’d like to rustle up is a horse race. I’ve got a
Mex woman and her boy to care for.”
He glanced at me, and I said, “Her husband stood by me in a fight below the
border.”
“Killed?”
“Uh-huh. They’ve kinfolk in San Antonio.”
He tasted his whiskey and said nothing. When he finished his drink he bought me
one. “Lend you twenty dollars,” he suggested. “I’ll meet up with you again
sometime.”
“What I want is a horse race.” I lowered my voice. I’ve got me a fast mule. If I
can get a bet, I could double the ten dollars I’ve got. Might even get odds,
betting on a mule.”
He walked to the door and looked over the batwings at the mule, which was
tethered alongside my roan. Then he came back and leaned on the bar and tossed
off his whiskey.
“Man east of town has him a fast horse. Come sundown he’ll ride in. You mind if
I bet a little?”
“Welcome it. You from here?”
“Beeville. Only I come over this way, time to time, on business. I’m buying
cattle.”
That man had him a horse, all right, and that horse had plenty of speed, but my
mule just naturally left him behind, although Manuel was holding him up a mite,
like I suggested.
That ten dollars made up to twenty, and the cattle buyer handed me twenty more.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “I made aplenty.”
He looked at me thoughtfully. “You ever been over to Beeville? There’s a lot of
money floating around over there and they’re fixing to have some horse races
come Saturday. If you’re of a mind to, we might just traipse over that way. It’s
somewhat out of your way, but not to speak of.”
“I’m a man needs money,” I said. “I don’t mind if I do.”
“They’re fixing to have a prize fight, too. Mostly Irish folks over
there—Beeville was settled by Irish immigrants back about 1830 or so.” Then he
went on, “Powerful pair of shoulders you got there. You ever do any fighting?”
“Don’t figure on it,” I said, “not unless I come up to a couple of men I’m
looking for.”
“Gambler over there,” he said, “brought in a fighter. He nearly killed the local
pride, so they’re drumming up another fight to get some of their own back.”
“I’m no fighter,” I said, “not unless I’m pushed.”
“Too bad. A horse race is all right, but if you could whip this Dun Caffrey, you
could—”
“I’m pushed,” I said. “I’m really feeling pushed. Did you say Dun Caffrey?”
“That was the name. He’s good, make no mistake, and the Bishop is his backer.”
Right then I recalled those scarred and broken knuckles I’d seen on Caffrey that
time down on the border. But who would ever think Dun Caffrey would turn into a
prize fighter? Still, he was strong, and he handled himself well. And maybe I’d
been just lucky that day down in the field when I broke him up.
Those days a saloon was not only a place for drinking. It was a meeting place, a
club, a place where business deals were made, a betting parlor, and an exchange
for information. If you wanted to know about a trail, or whether the Indians
were out, or who had cattle for sale, you went to a saloon.
“You make your bets on the fight,” I said, “but you don’t need to mention any
name—just tell him I’m from Oakville, or just up from Mexico.”
This cattle buyer’s name was Doc Halloran, and he sized up to me like a canny
one. “Dun Caffrey has won six fights in Texas, and more than that in Louisiana
and Mississippi. He’s a bruiser, but no fool. He’s a gambler, and a companion of
gamblers.”
“That’s as may be, but if you’ll back me, I’ll have at him.”
“Are you in shape?”
“Six years at hard labor in a Mexican prison,” I said. “Yes, I’m in shape.”
We went into Beeville by the back streets and Doc Halloran took me to his own
house. When I got there I stretched out for a rest. Juana and Manuel, they were
there, too. Doc went out to rustle some bets on a horse race and to enter my
mule. And he went to talk up this fight, too.
About sundown Manuel came back from rousting around. He was a mighty serious
Mexican boy. “There is great trouble, senor,” he said. “I think we have been
followed to this place, for Senor Deckrow is here. He rides in his carriage with
the senorita, but there are many men with him.”
So I sat up on the edge of the bed and looked down at my thick, work-hardened
hands, thinking. It was scarcely possible they had found us so quickly, nor
would Deckrow be likely to bring the senorita, Manuel had said. That would be
Marsha, the little one. Only she would be close to twenty now, and almost an old
maid, for a time when girls married at sixteen or seventeen.
“I do not think they had followed us, amigo. It may be they go to San Antonio.
He would want riders for protection. It is said there are many thieves.”
Sitting on the edge of the bed after he left, I turned my mind again to the
situation. Maybe this was the showdown that had to come sooner or later. Dun
Caffrey would be here, Deckrow … how many others?
Doc Halloran came back before midnight. His long, friendly face was serious, and
he stood looking down at me. “Well, the fight is set,” he said. “And we’ve got
the mule entered in the race, but I think we’ve bit off more than we can chew.”
“What happened?”
He touched his tongue to his lips. “I bet five thousand on the mule, but they
roped me in and egged me on, and I went over my head. I’ve bet twenty-five
thousand on you to whip Dun Caffrey.”
You know, I thought he’d gone crazy. I looked up at him and listened to him say
it again. Twenty-five thousand! Why, that was—it was impossible, that’s what it
was.
“They were ready for me,” he said. “After all, this is a business with them. I
mentioned having a fighter, and they doubted it—said nobody would stand a chance
with Caffrey. Then they kept egging me on until they told me to put my money
where my mouth was. And I did.”
“Doc, for that much money they’d murder fifty like us. I won’t fight. Tell ’em
the bet’s off.”
“I can’t … they made me put up the money. They’ve got me over a barrel.”
The Bishop … he would have a gang ready to tear down the ropes and mob us if
it looked as if I was going to win. He would be ready for us.
“They put up their money too, didn’t they?”
“Of course.” Halloran paced the floor. “Sackett, if I lose this bet I’ll be back
punching cows. It’s everything I’ve been able to earn or save in forty-five
years. I don’t think I could do it again, and I can’t imagine how I was such a
fool.”
I got up. “Don’t let it worry you. I’ll fight him. I’ll beat him, too. But we’ve
got to get somebody to guard that saloon safe, if that’s where the money is. If
there’s no other way, they’ll rob the safe.”
“That’s just it. The Bishop has men in town. He has several who have agreed to
stay in the saloon and keep watch. Sackett, we’re through. We’re whipped!”
There was a tap on the door, and I slid that Walch Navy out of my waistband.
“Open it,” I said to Juana. “Just pull it open and stay out of the way.”
She pulled the door open and a man stepped into the doorway. He was tall and
very lean, with yellow eyes and gold rings in his ears. ”
“Lando,” he said, “I figured it was you.” It was the Tinker.
Chapter Nine
He stepped into the room and closed the door carefully behind him. The room was
dimly lit, with the flickering fire on the hearth and a candle burning. The dark
shadows lay in the hollows of his cheeks, and I could see little more of him
than the gleam of bis eyes and the shine of the gold of his earrings.
“When I heard of a man with a racing mule,” he said, “it had to be you.”