The Loner: Inferno #12

The apron came along the hardwood and gave them a friendly nod. “What can I do for you, Captain ?”

“It’s lieutenant,” Nicholson snapped.

The Kid had a hunch the bartender knew exactly what rank the insignia denoted.

Nicholson went on. “What’s the name of this settlement?”

“This is Sago, New Mexico Territory, Lieutenant.” The man was in his forties, thick-bodied, with gray hair and the flushed face of a man who consumed too much of his own product. “Named after me, Edwin Sago. I dug that well and founded the town.”

Sago had a note of pride in his voice, which wasn’t surprising considering how quickly and easily he had volunteered the settlement’s history.

Nicholson glanced at The Kid, who had come up alongside him at the bar. “Are you sure you haven’t been here before?”

“This is my first visit,” The Kid replied.

Nicholson shook his head and turned back to Sago. “Can you tell us how far it is from here to the Mexican border?”

“Did you see the well when you rode into town?” Sago asked.

“Of course. It would be difficult to overlook.”

“Well, then, you’ve seen the border. That’s it right there. Happenstance, mind you. I didn’t set out to drill the well right on the line, but that’s where I found water.”

“You mean the town sits directly on the border?”

“That’s right.” Sago nodded. “The south side of town is in Mexico.” He shrugged. “Of course, on a practical level it doesn’t really matter much. Folks go back and forth all the time. Nobody really cares which side of the line they’re on.”

“I do,” Nicholson snapped. “My authority stops at the border.”

Sago idly polished the hardwood with a bar rag, but The Kid could tell the man’s casual pose concealed a sharp interest.

“Your authority to do what, Lieutenant, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“We’re in pursuit of a band of hostiles. Apaches.”

“And they have four prisoners with them,” The Kid added. “White women.” He watched the four men at the table from the corner of his eye as he said that.

The tough-looking redhead’s eyes narrowed slightly as he leaned forward a couple of inches in an instinctive reaction. The other three men cut their eyes at him, even the stocky Mexican, who turned his head enough to look toward the bar.

“Now that’s a real shame,” Edwin Sago said. “I feel sorry for those ladies. We’d heard some rumors around here about a bunch of bronco Apaches coming over the border, but nobody in town has seen hide nor hair of ’em. Thank the Lord for that, I say.”

“How can you be sure no one has seen them?” Nicholson asked.

“Because everybody in this part of the territory comes in here sooner or later, Lieutenant, and I keep my eyes and ears open. This is the only real watering hole in these parts, and I’m talking about the well and the saloon.”

Nicholson nodded, accepting what Sago told him. “The war party’s tracks lead in this direction. They must have slipped around the town in the dark. We can’t be that far behind them.”

“We can probably pick up their trail in the morning and catch up to them before the day’s over,” The Kid said.

Sago looked at him curiously. “Who might you be, mister?”

“Name’s Morgan.” The Kid paused. “I’m working as a civilian scout for the lieutenant here.”

“And you know perfectly well that our pursuit of the hostiles is over, Mr. Morgan,” Nicholson said. “I told you before, my authority ends at the border. I’ll not be a party to an illegal incursion into a sovereign foreign nation.”

Sago chuckled. The Kid figured the man’s amusement was directed at the lieutenant’s pompous longwindedness.

“We can talk about this later,” The Kid said.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Nicholson insisted. “It’s over.”

The hell it is, The Kid thought. He knew that as soon as it was light again, he could find the tracks left behind by the Apache war party. But he didn’t want to argue with Nicholson about it in front of strangers, so he just shrugged.

“We’ll be camping nearby tonight, Mr. Sago,” Nicholson went on to the bartender.

“I’ve got several empty rooms upstairs. That’s the hotel part of the business. You and Mr. Morgan are welcome to stay here, Lieutenant. No charge for the cavalry.”

“No, thank you,” Nicholson replied without hesitation. “I’ll stay with my men.” He jerked his head toward the door. “Come on, Morgan.”

“I thought I might stay here and have a beer, maybe something to eat,” The Kid said.

“Have you forgotten what occurred earlier?”

“No. I gave you my word, and I intend to keep it.”

For a long moment, Nicholson gave him a narrow-eyed stare. Finally the officer said, “Very well. I’ll hold you to that. I have to go make sure none of the men have strayed past the well into Mexico.”

The Kid didn’t doubt for a second that Nicholson would raise hell about somebody stepping a foot over the line. Stiff-backed as always, the lieutenant left the saloon.

“You said you wanted a beer?” Sago asked.

“That’s right,” The Kid said. “Do you have any food?”

“Tortillas, beans, and beef.”

A smile tugged at The Kid’s mouth. “That sounds just fine.”

Sago drew the beer and slid the mug across the hardwood to The Kid. He looked curious again. “What was that the lieutenant said about something that happened earlier?”

“Nothing for you to worry about. Just a disagreement over tactics.”

“I didn’t think officers had disagreements about tactics with civilians.”

“Neither did the lieutenant,” The Kid said.

That drew another chuckle from Sago. He waved at the empty tables. “Sit down wherever you want. I’ll have Greta bring a plate of food to you.”

“Much obliged,” The Kid told him. He dropped a five dollar gold piece on the bar.

Sago lifted his eyebrows. “That buys you the hospitality of the house, Mr. Morgan ... which includes Greta, if you want.”

“I’ll think about it,” The Kid said, even though he had no intention of taking the tired-looking blonde upstairs.

He carried the beer over to one of the tables and sat down. He was aware that the four men were still watching him without being too obvious about it.

Conversation among the cowboys and vaqueros had quieted while Nicholson and The Kid were talking to Sago, but it started up again, mostly in low-pitched, worried tones as the men discussed the potential threat of an Apache war party in the area. Sago had said there were rumors about that, but the arrival of the cavalry had confirmed the possible menace.

Of course, now that the Apaches were across the border in Mexico, it was doubtful they would double back to attack the town or any of the ranches in the area. More than likely, the raiders had done all the damage they intended to and just wanted to get back to their stronghold somewhere in the fastness of the Mexican mountains.

The blonde had gone behind the bar, and disappeared. She emerged from a door carrying a couple of plates on her tray, and crossed to The Kid’s table.

“Here you are, sir,” she said as she set the plates on the table in front of him. One held a stack of tortillas, the other piles of beans and beef.

Up close, The Kid saw that the woman looked wearier than he’d thought. She was somewhere around thirty, old for working in a saloon. Tiny lines around her eyes and mouth indicated she had lived a hard life. But her blue