Authors: Cherie Shaw
“I did send a few letters and cablegrams from various
ports, while you were recovering from your injuries on board my ship. I have many
connections with government agencies, and the information you gave me about
Devlin and his thugs may have helped in the investigation.” Claude smiled at
that statement. Then continued. “Garth owned a small fleet of ships in
partnership with a friend of his with a successful shipping industry, though
the boy has been busy with that ‘sideline’ of his too. From what he told me
though, he has sold his share of the import business to his partner. Now Garth
will return to England to take over part of my business industry. He will continue
with his ‘sideline’ though, of course.
“He doesn’t realize that I have so many connections in
England and all over the world for that matter, that he can’t hide a thing
from his old uncle. I’ve been one jump ahead of him at all times. However, it
makes him feel good to think that he has put something over on this old man.
Without Olivia’s knowing it, I have kept complete track of that nephew of mine,
since he left home five years ago.” Claude chuckled at his own wit, then took
his leave of Logan’s room, after a hearty handshake and a quick nod. He
wondered where that Henry Adams, alias Henry Birch, was headed. Would he
attempt to follow Olivia?
Logan
pushed open the
batwing doors of ‘Hawk’s Red Eye’ saloon, with both hands, and then stood for a
moment as his eyes adjusted to the dimly lit interior. After briefly scanning
the room, he sauntered on towards the bar. Ricardo, clad in his colorful garb,
flashing conchos and silver spurs, had already preceded Logan by several minutes,
and now stood belly up to the bar, sipping a shot of tequila from a small
tumbler, and he turned slowly as if sizing up the newcomer. Logan moved slowly
over to stand next to his Spanish friend, though he pretended to not know him
at that time.
Ricardo gave a wide grin, showing even white teeth,
against his dark olive skin. Swaying a little, Logan tipped his hat, and said,
“Howdy. I saw you on the trail comin’ in.”
Ricardo touched the brim of his tall sombrero, and
kept grinning looking the newcomer up and down. “Amigo.” He said, and
nodded.
Logan
then turned to
the bewhiskered bartender, a ruddy cheeked and balding older man sporting a pot
belly and a huge handlebar mustache, who was slowly wiping the bar with a rag
that had seen better days. “I take it you’re Hawk.” Logan slurred. Then at
the bartender’s nod, he said, “I’ll take the same as this gentleman here is
drinkin’, then pour him another at the same time.”
“That’ll be tequila then. You treatin’ the mex’ here
too?” The bartender asked, as he turned to grab a bottle and another glass
from a shelf.
Logan
drawled, “He
seems like as good a drinkin’ pardner as any of the others here.” Logan slurred his words, giving the impression that he’d already tossed down more than a
few drinks already. He laid down a couple of two-bit pieces on the bar, then
tossed down a couple more, and said “Now, Hawk, don’t you go lettin’ me or this
fella next to me here, go away thirsty.” Then he lifted the glass and downed
the tequila in one big gulp, almost choking on the strong stuff. He shook his
head as if to clear it, then pointed to the glass, and the bartender filled it
up again. This time Logan slowly sipped his drink. He didn’t want to get
drunk, just give the impression. People tended to be loose-lipped around an
intoxicated person.
Ricardo was used to the strong tequila, his favorite
whenever he drank, which wasn’t often, (Maria wouldn’t allow it), but he now
grabbed the bottle, after tossing a few of his own coins onto the well-polished
bar, then motioned for Logan to follow him over to a corner table. Logan pretended to stagger a bit as he walked behind his friend. They were drawing a bit
of attention from some of the other patrons, but mostly humorous interest for
the drinking strangers.
Ricardo appeared relaxed, enjoying the act that his
friend Logan was performing, although he watched without seeming to, the others
in the saloon. There were three rough looking characters sitting at one table
playing cards and drinking. The three had watched as Logan and Ricardo walked
over to the corner table, then they had gone back to their card game. Logan’s performance must have been believable.
Ricardo knew that Logan had sworn never to touch
liquor again, after being shanghaied while intoxicated eight years ago, but
this was necessary to see what they could find out about the town, also the
surrounding ranches. Saloons were known to be usually a good source of
information.
There were about a dozen men in the room, mostly
cowhands, though one gentleman wore a suit, the rest were clad in weathered and
worn western garb.
Ricardo turned to Logan, “Gracias, Señor, for the
drink. You are one generous hombre, for a gringo. I am pleased to drink with
you. This tequila, she will honor you with one magnificent headache, come
morning. But she is so worth it.” He gave a hearty laugh, and slapped Logan on the shoulder.
Logan
grinned as he
answered, “Friend, it won’t be my first hangover……..nor…my last, an’ long as
ah’m ridin’ the grub line, may as well enjoy a few now an’ then.”
Two flashy-dressed women were working the floor, and
one, a worn out looking brunette, in a bright red satin short dress, walked
over and put an arm around Logan’s wide shoulders, leaning in his face, “Hi
handsome, my name’s Rosie. Are you buyin’ drinks tonight?” She purred into
his face.
Logan
had to act the
part of a lonely cowhand on the prowl, so he gave her a lopsided grin, and
kidded along with her for awhile, then bought her a drink, and told her he’d
see her later. He hoped she got busy later, if she didn’t, he’d be fast out
the swinging doors. She wasn’t all that attractive, and he caught himself
comparing her looks to Olivia’s. There was no contest there, and he mentally
kicked himself for even thinking such thoughts. Why was it that every woman he
even looked at lately, brought visions to mind of Lord Beckford’s lovely and
enchanting niece?
Ricardo hoped that the saloon woman, Rosie, wouldn’t
bother with him though, as Maria would kill him if she found out he had even
talked to any woman in the saloon, and he heaved a deep sigh of relief when
Rosie only paused a moment, then shrugged and winked at him as she walked
away. She left her drink on the bar, and then walked over to work on more
customers. There were plenty of them, and she called a few by name.
Logan wasn’t the only one who’d had (from all
appearances anyway) too much to drink, as one of the younger cowboys had to be
half carried out of the saloon by two of his friends. It had been obvious that
he was not used to drinking, young and red-faced as he was. He looked like he
hadn’t even begun shaving yet. Logan and Ricardo looked at each other, and
then smiled. Oh, the innocence of youth.
Several tables had serious card games going on, though
most seemed friendly, at least at the present time. Logan made a show of
enjoying the evening, and casually watching some of the men playing cards,
while he bantered back and forth with Ricardo, joking about the well decorated
streets of Coyote Springs, with all the trees and flowers lining the main
street.
He didn’t need to pretend any more that the strong
tequila was affecting him, as his head was beginning to buzz for real. Logan hadn’t had a drink in over eight years, so this was a lot all at once. He signaled
the bartender and ordered a beer, hoping that he could make it last awhile. He
didn’t know what that mixture would do to his stomach, but he also thought to
ask Hawk if he could rustle up some grub for him and Ricardo, as they hadn’t
eaten since lunch, and secretly he hoped that a bite of food would keep him
from ‘ailing’ too much in the morning. Hawk told him that they had a good cook
in the kitchen, and already some of the other patrons had ordered supper also.
Logan
leaned back in
his chair, while they waited for the food to be served. He lazily scanned the
room again, casually taking in the various customers, intentionally reading
personalities. He spotted right away one tough looking gent at the table
nearest where he and Ricardo were sitting. The man seemed to be ‘full of
himself’, though no threat.
Four cowhands sat together at the adjoining table,
enjoying a drink and a friendly game of cards. Logan heard one mention the
‘Triple-B’ ranch, and his interest heightened. The same one referred to the serious
gent with the receding hairline and the stub of a cigar stuck in the corner of
his mouth, as the ‘ramrod’. Logan figured that Mr. ‘cigar’ was the foreman of
the spread. He was in luck. Though the man looked like he’d been over the
hill and back a few times, Logan knew he could handle him, if the need came,
and with his luck, it probably would.
He waited a few moments, until the time was right,
then as the bartender was placing a plateful of hot food in front of Logan and
one for Ricardo, he asked loudly, “Say, Hawk. You s’pose anyone’s doin’ any
hirin’ ‘round here? I may stay around awhile, kinda like this town. I’ve done
a lot of bronc ridin’, an’ pushin’ cows up Wyoming way. It oughta be ‘bout
time for roundup and brandin’.” He knew the men at the next table heard, as
they turned his way, and studied him a few minutes.
Hawk finished placing the cutlery next to the plates,
and said, “Enjoy the grub fellas. Not sure who’s hiring, but I’ll let you know
if I hear of anyone.” He nodded in the direction of the next table, as he
wiped his hands on his apron, and then walked back in the direction of the
bar.
Logan and Ricardo dug in. The food was surprisingly
good, roast beef and fried potatoes, with a couple tortillas on the side
stuffed with beans. Logan didn’t know how that meal would mix with the alcohol
in his system, but he hoped it would settle things down. If things progressed
well, they could leave shortly after they had eaten. The place didn’t really
smell like clean fresh air, and he couldn’t wait to get out of there.
He and Ricardo discussed the picturesque town of Coyote Springs, with its cool sparkling stream at the edge of town. They talked about
anything that they could think of on the spur of the moment, except why they
had chosen Coyote Springs to stop at. Logan was tired. It had been a long
day, and he hoped that the gents at the next table were friendly and
informative pretty quick, though if they learned nothing, they would just ride
out to the Triple-B in the morning anyway, and take their chances on hiring
out.
“How about you?” Logan asked Ricardo, as he finished
the last bite on his plate, then lifting the mug, took a swallow of the warm
beer that the bartender had brought him. At Ricardo’s questioning look, he
continued, “You an experienced hand too? Needin’ work too, Amigo?”
“Si, Señor.” Ricardo grinned, “I am mucho
experienced, mostly working my parents’ rancho grande in Mexico, a few spreads here in Texas, and some other places, wherever the wind happens to blow.”
With that he laughed. “However, I could use a few extra pesos to keep me in my
tequila and tacos. I would then be a happy man. Let us ride together? Si?”
Logan
had to stop
himself from laughing. Ricardo was sure putting it on thick, but then he was a
very demonstrative Spaniard, and usually absorbed a lot of attention wherever
he went, enjoying every moment of it.
Just as Hawk had cleared the plates away from the
table, and collected a few more coins for the price of the two meals, the stern
gent, with the cigar stub stuffed in the side of his mouth, laid down his hand
of cards, then made a big show of shoving back his chair, and stood. He eyed
Logan and Ricardo for a full half minute. “Heard you boys talkin’. Ridin’ the
grub line?” He drawled.
Logan
nodded, and
Ricardo answered, “Si, Señor. Why do you ask?”
“Name’s Holderman, Jinx Holderman that is. I’m
foreman of the Triple-B, a spread southwest of here.” He puffed his chest out
a bit. Yes the man was surely full of himself. Then he continued talking, “If
your friend here sobers up by tomorrow sunup, I may be able to use you. Ever
broke wild mustangs?”
Logan
slurred his
answer, putting on a bleary-eyed appearance. “Never seen a mustang that weren’t
wild. They wouldn’t be needin’ to be broke if they weren’t. I been
bronc-bustin’ them ornery critters since ah was knee-high to a prairie dog an’
still a’settin’ in short pants. Just you point me the way. Ah’ll show you what
I can do. What you got in mind, pard?”