Lewiston was not satisfied, yet there was certainly nothing wrong with her
story, nor had he any reason to suspect she knew Tell Sackett’s whereabouts,
except the fact that they were relatives, and had talked together. He could not
have given any reason for his dissatisfaction, but he felt it. Moreover, he had
liked Tell, and he was worried about him.
Later he said as much to Davis. “Oh, come now, Captain!” Davis said. “If Laura
Sackett knew anything about Sackett she would tell you. What possible reason
would she have for lying?”
“I don’t know. But why is she staying on in Tucson? She has no relatives here,
no friends, and this is no time of year to be here if you can be anywhere else.
I mean, I like the place, but not many eastern women such as Laura Sackett are
inclined to want to stay here.”
Davis had done some wondering about that himself. Tucson was a hot, dusty little
desert town, and not a likely place for a lady of aristocratic background such
as Laura had implied in a few carefully casual references. A stopover to recover
from the rigors of a stage trip from California would be natural, but the days
had stretched on, and still she remained. Had she been known in the area or had
friends there, her presence would have been no cause for comment, but she kept
very much to herself and indicated no desire to make acquaintances.
Laura was unconcerned as to what anyone thought. She detested Tucson and its
people, and wanted nothing so much as to go on to El Paso and thence to New
Orleans and the East. If she could only be sure Tell Sackett was dead she would
leave.
She knew what she must do. Tell Sackett had now been gone for three weeks, and
while it seemed likely that he was dead, he might even now be coming north over
the trails through Sonora. So she had one more thing to do. She had to make sure
that, if he had lived through the journey into the Apache stronghold, he would
die before getting back to Tucson. Somehow she must manage to talk with Arch or
Wolf Hadden.
They came rarely to the Shoo-Fly. There were other places to eat among their own
land, and she had seen them on the streets with other toughs of ugly reputation.
By listening to talk she heard around her, she learned that the Haddens were,
among other things, bronc riders and wild-horse hunters. They had come into town
with several horses for sale or trade.
She spoke to Mrs. Wallen quite casually. “There is a man about town,” she said,
“a rough-looking man named Hadden, who has a sorrel gelding for sale. I would
like to talk to him.”
Mrs. Wallen hesitated, putting her hands on her hips. “Ma’am, those Haddens are
not fit men for a lady to know. I will have Mr. Wallen talk to them.”
“If you please,” Laura Sackett answered coolly, “I would prefer to talk to them
myself. I have dealt with many rough men whom my father employed. I have also
had some experience in buying horses.”
“Very well,” Mrs. Wallen replied stiffly, “have it your own way.”
Laura was amused. Mrs. Wallen did not like her, she knew, and Laura cared not at
all, but it made her feel good to put her in her place, if ever so gently.
She finished her tea and, getting to her feet, she gathered her skirt in one
dainty gloved hand and went out on the boardwalk. The heat struck her face like
heat from the open door of a furnace. She stood an instant, looking up and down
the street, and then she went on to her rooming house.
Arch Hadden was seated on the steps. He got to his feet as she approached.
“Wallen said you wanted to see me about a horse.”
She studied him for a moment. “About a horse,” she said, “and some other
matters. If you will saddle that sorrel you have and bring him around in the
morning I shall ride out with you. If the horse is satisfactory, I will buy
him.” The next morning in the early coolness they rode out beyond the mission.
The little sorrel moved well, but Laura was not interested in the horse. In a
thick grove of cactus and brush, she drew up and Arch Hadden rode up close
beside her.
He looked at her with a knowing leer. “Ma’am, I reckon you come to the right
man. Now I’ll just get down an’ help you off that horse …”
In her hand she held a two-barreled derringer. “Stay right where you are,
Hadden,” she said. “I brought you out here to talk to you. Do you know what my
name is?”
He stared at her, puzzled but wary. “Can’t say as I do. At the livery stable
Wallen just told me to come and see the blonde lady at that roomin’ house. I
reckon evertrody in town has seen you, ma’am.”
“I am Laura Pritts Sackett.”
His face sharpened suddenly as if the skin had drawn tight. He was very still,
and with amusement she could see what was happening in his mind. She was a
woman, and she had a gun on him. She could kill him and say he had attacked her,
and she would not be blamed, but if he drew on her and killed her, he would be
hung for murder.
“Don’t be frightened, Hadden. I am not going to kill you. In fact, I want you to
kill somebody for me — for both of us.”
“What’s that mean?”
“There is a man who has gone down into Mexico and I think the Apaches may have
killed him, but if he should be coming back I want him killed before he reaches
Tucson.”
Hadden shook his head. “I’ve killed a few men,” he said, “but only in fights. I
ain’t no paid killer, ma’am.”
“Not even if the man is Tell Sackett?”
He was still wary, but interested. “You askin’ me that? And you a Sackett?”
“I am not a Sackett, Hadden. I had the misfortune to marry one. I married him to
help my father, but they turned on him anyway. Tell Sackett is my
brother-in-law, and I want him killed, Hadden.
“There are men in this town, Hadden, who would kill a man for fifty dollars, and
there are others all along the border. I will give you two hundred dollars if
you will bring me evidence that Tell Sackett is dead. I don’t care whether you
kill him or somebody else does. All I want is proof.”
Hadden rested his palms on the saddle horn and chewed on his mustache. He had
heard that Sackett had ridden south, but he also knew that Spanish Murphy, who
had ridden with him, had told some friends in Mex town that he would be back in
a few weeks.
Arch Hadden was a hard, tough man, and a bitter one. He had ridden into Tucson
hunting John J. Battles, an old enemy. He had decided to kill Tampico Rocca,
knowing nothing about him, because Rocca was Battles’ friend and it would bring
Battles out of hiding. Tell Sackett had simply been a stranger of whom he had
known nothing. Since the gun battle in which Arch Hadden had been so roughly
treated and one of his men had been killed, another seriously wounded, he had
heard a lot about the Sacketts. He wanted to kill Tell Sackett, but he was no
longer at all sure he could kill him in a stand-up gun fight. On the other hand,
here was an offer of two hundred dollars, representing six months’ hard work on
the cattle ranges, for killing him, money it would be a pleasure to earn.
Slowly, he dug out the makings and rolled a smoke. Laura Sackett seemed in no
hurry, and Arch wanted to think this thing through.
“There would be no trouble for you, Hadden,” she persisted. “You have already
had a fight with him. If there is another fight and you kill him, nobody would
be surprised.”
“Why’d you pick on me?”
“You’re the obvious one. He bested you. You want him beaten or dead. You are the
one who can do it and no questions asked.”
“How you figure to pay me?”
“I will give you one hundred dollars now, and the other hundred will be left at
the Wells-Fargo office to be delivered to you by my order.”
“Won’t folks wonder why you’re payin’ me money?”
“No. You will be rounding up and breaking four horses for me, to be delivered in
El Paso. The money would be in payment for that.”
Grimly, he stared at her. The derringer was still in her hand, and now he knew
she would shoot if need be. Not that there would be any cause for it, but this