“You’re free! Get the hell out of here and stay away from anything that walks on two legs.”
Cyclone snorted and then wheeled about to vanish into the deepening night. Longarm knew that he would never see the little outlaw again and that was just fine.
The saloons were full and roaring. Longarm had always found them to be excellent sources of information. Also, he felt in need of strong spirits, but not too strong just in case he really did run into Hank Bass. But that would be too easy and, so far, nothing on this trip was turning out easy. What Longarm most wanted to know was the whereabouts of Jimmy Cox. And that’s why, after tossing his saddle, bridle, and blanket just inside the door of the Sawdust Saloon, he headed straight for the bar and sidled up against a wizened old prospector.
“Evening,” Longarm said with a disarming smile. “Can I buy you a drink?”
The prospector eyed him suspiciously. “Now, why in the hell would you want to do that?”
“Maybe I don’t like to drink alone.”
“And maybe you’re stuffed full of horseshit,” the prospector said.
“Yeah,” Longarm admitted, “maybe some of that too. I’d still like to buy you a drink and take a load off my feet.”
“Then buy us a bottle,” the old prospector said. “That way, we won’t have to keep getting up for refills. And, at the same time, I promise that I’ll be the best damn listener you ever drank with.”
Longarm almost laughed. He ordered a bottle of whiskey and then led the way through the saloon’s noisy crowd to an empty table near the back of the room. He took a seat with his back to the wall where he could keep an eye on things.
“My name is Custis,” he said, uncorking the bottle, then filling two glasses.
“Name is Eli,” the prospector replied as he raised his glass. “And I do like whiskey! Even bad whiskey.”
Longarm returned the token salute and they emptied their glasses. The whiskey was dreadful but Longarm managed to keep from choking, although his eyes began to water and it felt like he’d swallowed a shovelful of sulfur.
“Whew!” Eli breathed. “This is sure to take away all a man’s woes.”
“For a while at least,” Longarm agreed. “I take it that you are a prospector.”
“Yep. And if you’re looking for someone to grubstake, you couldn’t do better’n me. I been roamin’ around this miserable desert country for almost thirty years. Keepin’ one step ahead of the Apache and findin’ more’n my fair share of gold.”
“Is that a fact?”
“It is!” Eli shouted, vigorously nodding his head up and down. The wrinkled old prospector emptied his glass, then refilled it to the brim, leaning forward to whisper, “And I have made men smart enough to stake me rich.”
“For a fact?” Longarm asked, pretending to look very impressed.
“That’s right! And you could be the next.”
Eli winked and took a long draft from his glass. “But I’ll be honest with you, there are no guarantees. I might hit another pocket of gold on my first day out … or it could take months.”
“I understand.” Longarm took another drink. “What about finding me some Spanish gold?”
Eli had started to raise his glass, but now he thumped it down hard. “Ain’t no damned Spanish gold! Are you just another one of them greedy sons a bitches that read that newspaper article about the old liar, Jimmy Cox?”
“I did,” Longarm decided to admit. “The article said that Jimmy paid off his debts with Spanish coins.”
“So what?!” Eli shouted loud enough to turn heads. “You want to know the truth behind that story?”
“Sure.” Longarm poured Eli another two fingers of the awful whiskey and leaned back in his chair.
“Well, Jimmy Cox is a friend of mine and … while he’s a good man, he’s also a terrible liar.”
“Is that a fact?”
“It is! He had fallen on real hard times. Couldn’t get nobody to grubstake him ‘cause he hadn’t found so much as a thimbleful of gold for years. So what does he up and do?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
“He concocts this crazy story about finding Spanish gold!”
“But there are plenty of witnesses who say that he paid all his medical bills with Spanish gold coins.”
“Yeah, yeah, but … well, I expect he found ‘em down in Mexico or something and just hoarded enough of ‘em over the years so that he could cause a stir.” Eli wagged his head back and forth. “It was all a hoax!
And damned if it probably didn’t get old Jimmy killed.”
Longarm leaned forward over the table. “So you think he’s dead?”
“I don’t know,” Eli admitted. “No one has seen Jimmy for months. But old desert dogs like us can disappear for long periods of time so … well, it’s hard to say if he is alive or dead. All I do know for sure is that a lot of greedy sons a bitches are hunting for him. And, if he was found, then I’m sure they must have tortured Jimmy for the location of that Spanish treasure. He’d either have had to tell them or else.”
“Or else what?”
“Or else they’d have killed him. I expect that they probably did either way.”
Longarm emptied his glass. “I’m an old friend of Jimmy’s,” he admitted.
