It was a good question. The rain swept over them and the wind grew colder as the storm swept in from the east, off the high Rockies. They were isolated, unsheltered and abandoned in the darkness of a Colorado winter storm. The lights of the train, their last hope of contact with civilization, swept around a bend and were extinguished by the darkness. There was only the faint scent of woodsmoke hanging in the air to remind them that it had ever been there.

  TWO

  They trudged northward, away from the railroad tracks into the darkness as the rain slanted down and the skies grumbled. The going was over rough night-shrouded ground, and each of them had slipped more than once and fallen heavily. Ned Chambers kept his grip on Lady Simpson’s arm. Wilson and Ruben Knox trudged on without even the strength to snap and curse at Tango, who was leading them on into the wilderness.

  ‘I know where we are,’ Tango had told Ned Chambers as they had cast about for a plan of action. ‘Do you know Cinnamon Bluffs?’

  ‘Only by mention. I can’t remember anything I’ve heard about it.’

  ‘I caught sight of it through a break in the storm,’ Tango told them. ‘There used to be a stage stop there – before the railroad came through and made it irrelevant. It’s been deserted for more than two years.’

  ‘Then of what use is it to us?’ the contrary Knox wanted to know.

  ‘Plenty,’ Tango said, ‘if it still has a roof on it. We can shelter up there out of the wind and rain until we can come up with a better plan. It beats standing alongside the tracks in this weather waiting for the next train to come, which seems to be what all of the other passengers are doing.’

  ‘I’d like to vote for joining the other passengers,’ Wilson said. Ned Chambers was sharp in his response.

  ‘This isn’t a democracy, sir.’ Then to Tango: ‘Let’s get going if you know the way, Drew. We could all freeze to death standing here, debating.’

  So they trudged northward, the gusting wind driving rain against their cheeks and eyes, the temperature dropping precipitously. Even Tango began to have doubts as he trudged on across the wasteland, at times slogging through mud and pools of icy water. He did know where he was going, but by daylight, along a marked road, the shuttered stage station was much easier to locate than trying to find it in these conditions.

  The lash and whip of the wind drove icy rain against their faces; the constant growl of thunder threatened more of the same weather, and the way the temperature kept dropping indicated that the rain would soon turn to snow. Then what? Wandering around the plains in a smothering snow storm would very likely prove fatal. Tango felt the fool at that moment; he was glad he could not hear the words being considered behind the glaring, suffering eyes of Adam Wilson and Ruben Knox.

  ‘I see something, Tango,’ Ned Chambers called above the torrent of rain. All eyes looked hopefully in the direction Ned indicated, but no one saw a thing. Then lightning flared again, close at hand and Tango, too, saw the dumpy form of the deserted way station.

  ‘Let’s get moving before we lose it again,’ Tango said. Thunder followed on the heels of his command, shaking the earth underfoot.

  It was a half-hour farther on when, exhausted and soaked to the skin, they came upon the pole and adobe structure that had been a way station for the coach line before this section of it had been discontinued, the line running farther south now, through Winston and Adobe Wells where there was no competition from the railroad.

  Ned pushed at the warped, weather-beaten door and it gave, allowing them entrance. It was unusually warm inside, or at least it seemed to be. There was the feel in the air of fire not long extinguished.

  Beyond the window now they could see the snow starting to fall. A few thick flakes pasted themselves against the glass pane, and the strengthening wind shook the small structure. Ruben Knox stood shivering in his rain-saturated coat, arms wrapped tightly around him. He was not alone when he suggested, ‘We should start a fire before we freeze to death.’ They all agreed.

  ‘You don’t think that smoke would give us away?’ Tango asked Ned Chambers.

  ‘We don’t even know if anyone’s looking for us. Besides, that wind will whip the smoke away. I think it’s safe enough.’

  ‘All right,’ Tango answered, ‘if we can find any wood.’

  Lady Simpson, who had gone exploring, told them, ‘There’s a bin filled with coal in the kitchen.’

  ‘That’ll do the job,’ Ned replied. ‘You others, shovel out the fireplace. I saw a bucket out front you can dump the residue in.’

  ‘I guess that means me,’ Tango said, looking at Knox and Wilson, neither of whom apparently wished to dirty his hands. Catching Tango’s look, Knox protested hurriedly.

  ‘I am, after all, the senator from Delaware.’

  ‘That might mean something somewhere,’ Tango snapped. ‘Me, I don’t even know where Delaware is and if folks back there are like you, I don’t intend to ever go there.’

  ‘Meaning?’ Knox said huffily.

  ‘Meaning if a man is freezing to death and too lazy to build a fire to warm up by, he deserves to freeze.’

  ‘That’s enough, Tango,’ Ned Chambers said before things could get out of hand. Tango clamped his jaw shut. Ned was not technically his boss, but Tango respected the older man and knew that he himself had a habit of going off, taking things too personally. He stepped out into the wash and swirl of the settling storm, looked for the bucket, found it and entered the room again.

  ‘Does it look like a big storm?’ Adam Wilson asked.

  ‘Big enough,’ Tango answered, crouching by the fireplace. ‘We’re not going anywhere anytime soon.’

  ‘I knew it was a big mistake to leave the train,’ Senator Knox complained.

  ‘Sure,’ Tango said, shoveling the ash from the grate. ‘We could all now be standing comfortably beside the tracks in the middle of a blizzard. No wonder they elected you.’

  Tango worked silently, filling the bucket and emptying it outside twice before Ned came carrying coal from the kitchen bin. Lady Simpson had gone reconnoitering again. This time when she returned she was wearing twill trousers, a light suede jacket over a white blouse and had her long dark hair tied back in a pony tail.

  ‘You adapt quickly,’ Ned said to her.

  ‘One of my more endearing qualities,’ Marina Simpson laughed. ‘Really, when you find yourself where you are – there you are – may as well make the best of it.’ She finished arranging her hair as she spoke. ‘Did I hear someone say we’re not traveling on tonight?’

  ‘Or tomorrow, at a guess,’ Ned said.

  ‘Just as well. For myself I’m hungry and tired. There are beds in four back rooms, and a scattering of food in the kitchen. I found a sack of potatoes which belong in the ground and not on the table, but we’ll give them a trim and a shave and some of them are probably salvageable. Who’s a hand with a paring knife?’

  ‘I suppose that will have to be me,’ Tango said sourly.

  ‘I’ll do it, Tango,’ Ned interjected. ‘Dry yourself and see to the fire.’

  Tango glanced at Ned questioningly. Ned wasn’t exactly what they called smitten with Lady Simpson, but he was definitely interested in her. He lifted a hand in agreement and watched the two walk across the dusty floor toward the kitchen.

  ‘We’d better have a look at those bedrooms,’ Adam Wilson said, ‘if we’re spending the night here.’ He had found the stubs of two candles; he lit the wick of one from the fire in the hearth and started down the corridor.

  ‘I just need a clean blanket,’ Knox said as if he were now roughing it.

  ‘Good luck,’ Tango couldn’t help saying. ‘There hasn’t been anyone staying here for two years. If you find any blanket at all, count yourself lucky.’

  But Tango wondered as he watched the two city men wander down the dark hallway if he were speaking the truth. Yes, the place was dusty, the furniture rotting away, but he felt that someone had been using the stage station. Maybe groups of travelers on their way to or from Denver and Leadville, but someone, he felt, had been there quite recently. For one thing there was the relative warmth of the house when they had first entered it. And the embers from the fireplace had not been cool yet, as he had discovered painfully.

  There had been a cigar end among the refuse and, fingering it, Tango had found that it was not brittle and dry. Someone was around, or had been, not long before. Unbuttoning his coat, Tango seated himself in one of the torn leather chairs near the door, his Colt ready to hand. In the kitchen he could hear Ned and Lady Simpson, who had become simply Marina, talking in low tones. Tango pulled the bottle of whiskey he had paused long enough to pilfer from the railroad’s stores from his coat pocket and opened it. It was fiery, warming and the coal fire was burning nicely behind the grate.

  Why then did Tango feel an icy chill crawling up his spine?

  When Ned Chambers returned from the kitchen a few minutes later he was wearing an apron wrapped around his hips. He told Tango:

  ‘Way in the back of the larder I found two tins of corned beef. Of course there wasn’t much of those potatoes by the time we cut out the bad spots, but there’s enough for a rough kind of hash.’ He was smiling with satisfaction. Tango did not return the smile.

  ‘We’ve got company,’ he told Ned, nodding toward the door.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I heard them. A horse doesn’t make much noise walking across snow, with the wind whipping around, but I’m sure.’

  ‘How many?’ Ned asked with concern.

  ‘I can’t be sure, but more than one certainly.’

  ‘I’d better talk to the others,’ Ned said, casting another uneasy glance at the door.

  ‘You’d better,’ Tango agreed. ‘Tell them to get this right.’

  Ned thought he heard a boot stepping up on to the porch and he nodded. ‘Tango, if they come in, why don’t you sit away from the rest of us and just keep an eye on things.’

  ‘That’s what I was intending to do,’ Tango said. He seated himself again in the tattered leather chair, shifting his holster more comfortably. Across the room he could see Ned speaking rapidly to the other three.

  ‘I’ll do most of the talking,’ Ned was saying. ‘Just take your cues from me and add as little as possible.’

  ‘All right,’ Adam Wilson agreed. He looked worried but not deeply frightened. Knox was another proposition. The thin, sharp-faced senator had panic in his eyes.

  ‘What if they…?’

  Then everyone fell silent as the front door, assisted by the gusting wind blew open and slammed against the wall of the way station. They saw four men standing there. These eyed the gathering for a long minute, then entered. The first man in, presumably their leader, was tall and wide-shouldered, wore a snow-dusted sheepskin coat and a Stetson pulled down low. He was followed by two more rough-looking characters and, trailing them, a slender kid of nineteen or so who had two crossed front teeth and a sort of subdued madness behind his blue eyes. Tango thought this was the one to keep his eyes on.

  The big man stepped forward to meet Ned Chambers who had taken charge of matters. ‘I’m Chris Stilton,’ he said extending a thick, weather-cut hand.

  ‘John Hilton,’ Ned replied, taking his rough hand.

  ‘These two are brothers, Nathan and Freeman Cole,’ said Stilton, introducing the two men standing beside him. They were of a type, long curly black hair, hawkish noses and silent dark eyes. ‘And that back there is Mickey Dent. Close the damn door, Mickey!’

  The kid’s eyes filled with a poisonous glare which seemed to be aimed at no one in particular, and he went to the door, slamming it shut against the whip of the wind and the steadily falling snow.

  ‘This is Mr Hollis Crater,’ Ned said, nodding at Adam Wilson. ‘Owner of the Double Tree ranch down in Socorro. That’s his brother, Hugh.’

  ‘Howdy,’ Stilton said with a nod. ‘And the lady?’

  ‘That’s my daughter, Beth,’ Adam Wilson said, catching on to the game.

  Stilton nodded at Marina and glanced toward the kitchen. ‘Something smells good; do you mind if we join you?’

  ‘We have very little,’ said Marina. She had exchanged her British accent for the Western drawl of her youth, ‘But you boys are welcome to share what we have.’

  ‘Up all the way from Socorro, huh?’ Stilton said, rocking on his heels in front of the low-burning coal fire.

  ‘The way those Denver and Leadville mines are going,’ Ned improvised, ‘they’re going to need beef for the miners. We mean to provide it if Mr Crater can come to terms with the mine bosses. The train West was held up, and we took shelter here.’

  ‘Which mines are you talking about?’ Stilton inquired. It could have been a trick. Ned looked to Wilson, who took over easily. ‘It’s a consortium of five different mine owners – I’m not sure I can recall the names of any of the mines right now. Nor is it of any importance to me.’

  ‘I see,’ Stilton answered. He had been eye-balling the group as he warmed himself at the fire. None of them looked like ranchers to him, but then even everyday cowboys did their best to clean up and put on fancy duds when heading for town. He supposed the owner of a big ranch had no use for a range outfit. There was Tango. That one looked ready to spend a day roping and branding or droving cattle. ‘Who’s that?’ Stilton asked, nodding at Tango.

  ‘Sonny?’ Ned asked, glancing that way. He had to limit the conversation. He was afraid he would forget the names he had given to everyone. ‘He’ll be our trail boss. He wanted to get a look at the country he’d be pushing the cattle over.’

  Tango only nodded. He didn’t want to get roped into the game for the same reason as Ned. Even now he had forgotten the senator’s new name, and he was afraid of blurting something out. He sat back again, reaching for the bottle of whiskey beside him. Mickey Dent saw the bottle and his eyes lit up.

  ‘I’ll have me some of that,’ he said eagerly, and he reached for the whiskey. Tango glared at the kid. He did nothing to prevent Dent from taking the bottle, though the idea had crossed his mind.

  ‘Mickey,’ Stilton scolded as the kid drank three or four fingers of whiskey from the bottle, ‘Haven’t I been teaching you to ask before reaching?’

  Tango decided then and there that he didn’t like Mickey and he didn’t like Chris Stilton. Stilton’s eyes had shown amusement. Perhaps he had decided now that Tango posed no threat to them.

  They all sat to the table – except Tango – and Ned and Marina brought in the serving of hash, which divided into half, seemed barely adequate. Stilton talked as he ate, directing most of his words toward Adam Wilson.

  ‘Well, Mr Crater, the reason I was asking about which mines you had it in mind to deliver your beef to is that we work for the mine operators – or will when we can get there. We have jobs as regulators out there.’

  ‘Regulators?’ Wilson asked as if the term were new to him, and perhaps it was.

  ‘We provide security for the mines,’ Stilton said around a mouthful of hash. ‘Keep the bad element away from the goldfields.’

  Which meant, Ned knew, that they were simply hired thugs. Their job was to keep any independent prospectors out of the rich areas, to retaliate if miners were caught sampling the mines’ ores and, more important to the mine bosses, to crush any attempt by the miners to organize the workers in that brutal high country where twelve hours a day was spent underground, twelve in flimsy tents with the cold of winter settling in.

  Men who fought against conditions frequently had to be ‘regulated.’

  ‘What’d you say happened to that train you were on?’ Stilton asked.

  ‘We don’t know exactly. It was stopped on the tracks and we started hearing gunfire,’ Ned answered. ‘It seemed prudent to leave.’

  ‘I guess you must be carrying valuables?’ Stilton asked slyly.

  ‘No, you can’t keep cattle in a purse,’ Wilson replied with just the right touch. Stilton actually smiled, but it was not reassuring. Everyone in the cabin now was aware that they had fallen among thieves and toughs.

  The brothers, Nathan and Freeman Cole, had long ago finished their meager meal and sat stiffly in their chairs. Mickey Dent had finished eating as well, but the kid jittered nervously in his seat as if incapable of sitting still. He leaped abruptly to his feet.

  ‘I believe I’ll have some more whiskey. Anyone want to join me?’

  ‘Remember to ask the man,’ Stilton admonished sardonically.

  ‘Sure!’ Dent laughed, striding across the room to where Tango sat, expressionless. ‘Mind if I take some more whiskey, friend?’ he asked.

  ‘Go ahead,’ Tango answered.

  ‘See, Mickey,’ Stilton said, ‘being polite has its benefits.’

  ‘It can keep you from getting shot, for one thing,’ Tango said, and he was not kidding. Ned knew that, and everyone else in the room caught the menace in Tango’s voice. Ned shook his head slightly at Tango. This was no time to go off half-cocked. Not now. Not here in an enclosed space with innocent people – including Marina – around. Mickey Dent gave Tango a startled look which changed into a sarcastic grin. He grabbed the bottle by the neck and returned to the table, figuring he and his companions had backed Tango down.

  Walking into the kitchen where Marina and Ned Chambers were cleaning up as the other men shared Tango’s bottle of whiskey at the table, Tango asked, ‘Have you got the sleeping arrangements all worked out?’ Beyond the small four-paned window he could see nothing of the land through the dark screen of the snowstorm. Ned frowned, wiping his hands on a torn towel.

  ‘I think so. Marina in her own room at the back, Wilson, Knox and myself in the room adjacent, our four guests in the two rooms opposite. You, I suppose.…’

  ‘I’ll be spending the night in that chair. I advise you to keep your gun close to hand.’

  ‘I intended to; why the advice?’

  ‘We may not be as tricky as we think we are, or maybe they’re a little smarter. They’ve got Wilson and Senator Knox drinking with them now. Whiskey’s not known to sharpen the mind. A few seemingly offhand questions would be enough to reveal that Wilson is no cattleman.

 

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