“Glad I could be of help. Oh, and when you find him, tell him I asked about him and tell him that I’m sorry about his brother.”
“I’ll do that,” Matt said.
“Mr. Cain, we’ve got a boil over here!” someone shouted.
“I’d better get on that,” Cain said, hurrying away. “Good luck finding Andy!” he called back over his shoulder.
Chapter Ten
In New York’s Hell’s Kitchen, where Pogue Willis grew up, his size had been quite a disadvantage. Strength and the ability to uses one’s fists were what established the hierarchy of Willis’s neighborhood. Bullied by those who were larger than he was, Willis had his earlier years shadowed by intimidation and shame. Then one day, in desperation, Pogue Willis grabbed a shotgun and blew a hole in the guts of one of his tormentors. No one else in the neighborhood had ever seen an argument settled by any means other than sheer strength. When they saw the strongest of their number brought down by the weakest, they were visibly frightened and gave Willis a new, and unexpected, respect.
Willis discovered two things about himself that day. He found that had no compunctions about pulling the trigger, and he learned that he liked the feeling of power he experienced by seeing the others cowering before him. It was a feeling he didn’t intend to surrender ever again.
However, one didn’t just shoot someone in New York without answering to the law. Willis had to flee the city and when he did, he came West. It was the best thing to ever happen to him. There he learned a secret. It wasn’t really how fast you were with a gun that counted. What counted was a person’s willingness to kill. And that willingness—in fact eagerness—to kill gave Pogue Willis a tremendous advantage. Within less than two years after leaving New York, Pogue Willis had established a reputation as being one of the deadliest killers in the West. It was a reputation that he cherished.
Willis had been in Santa Fe for three days when he saw the report in the newspaper:
GRUESOME DISCOVERY
On Tuesday, a trackwalker who was making his normal sojourn along the tracks leading south from Antonito discovered the mutilated body of a man who had been run over by a train. As there was no identification found on the body, it is believed to be that of a transient who attempted to board a passing freight train only to slip and fall beneath the wheels.
Anyone with any information as to who this unknown party might be is asked to contact the city marshal at Antonito, Colorado.
Willis was in the Occidental Saloon when he read the article, and he smiled in satisfaction. So far, the body hadn’t even been identified, and they were treating the death as an accident.
Willis had waited in Santa Fe only long enough for the body to be discovered. Now, seeing that he was under no suspicion, he decided it was time to move on. The only problem was, he needed money to do that, and he was flat broke.
Even as he was thinking about the problem, it was solved for him when he saw the tall, gray-haired man at the bar flash several bills.
“Damn, Johnny, what are you doin’ carryin’ so much money around?” the bartender asked.
“Don’t worry, Pete, I don’t intend to carry it with me for long. I’ll be puttin’ it in the bank first thing tomorrow,” Johnny replied. “I just sold a string of horses to Wells Fargo and they give me two hundred dollars.”
“Hey, Johnny, want to play a little poker?” one of the cardplayers called out. “We’d love to have your money.”
The other cardplayers laughed.
“Now, if I played poker with you boys and lost this money, Martha would be down here to clean house. And trust me, you don’t want to see my wife mad.”
This time, not only the cardplayers, but the other customers, laughed as well.
“Speaking of Martha,” Johnny said. He picked up his beer mug and tossed the rest of it down. “I reckon I’d better get on home now or I really will be in the doghouse.”
“Good night, Johnny,” several of the others called.
“Be seein’ you,” Johnny tossed back over his shoulder as he left.
Willis got up from the table then and went through the back door of the saloon, as if he were stepping out to the outhouse. Once outside, he ran up alongside the saloon to see which way Johnny was going. He was heading west, but he stopped to say a few words to someone on the street.
The delay gave Willis the opportunity he was looking for, and he hurried down to the west end of the street, then stepped behind a barn.
He didn’t have to wait very long. No more than a couple of minutes later, Johnny came riding up the street. Willis waited until Johnny was even with him; then he stepped out behind him, aimed, and fired.
Johnny gasped, and fell from his horse. Willis ran up to him and quickly found the money.
The gunshot started some dogs to barking, and in the house nearest the barn, someone came outside carrying a lantern.
“Hello?” the man with the lantern called. “Anyone out here?”
The dogs continued to bark and a mule began to bray.
