and angle farther south until they came to Helldorado. They were pushing mustang ponies, but they were all poor- looking beasts, with the exception of one handsome buckskin that was too skinny. These were the sorriest nags that George could collect in such a short period of time. Longarm knew that he wanted the very worst animals just in case they were both killed and the horses were kept by Killion or one of his men. An unfortunate but distinct possibility.
Chapter 10
“There,” George said, pointing toward the dozen or so buildings that were cradled in the lap of a collection of sagebrush-covered hills. “Helldorado.”
“It isn’t much, is it?” Longarm was not very impressed. The town had been half destroyed by a fire, and many of its buildings were now little more than charred ruins.
“Damn bad place,” George Two Ponies grunted.
“Well,” Longarm said, “if that’s where I’ll find Matthew Killion and the ten thousand dollars he stole from the train, then that’s where I need to be. George, have you changed your mind about riding in there with me?”
“I go,” George said, a moment before reining after a jug-headed mustang that seemed determined to escape and run back toward its home ground.
Longarm watched the Indian cut off the mustang’s escape and then drive it back into the herd of horses that they had trailed down from Pyramid Lake. This was a poor bunch of mustangs and they looked awful, although Longarm was sure that wouldn’t matter. The idea was to fool Killion into thinking that Longarm was a loser and a drifter, a man who was just hoping to make a few too easy dollars off some rough Indian ponies. A man with a troubled past and with few prospects for the future, except perhaps if it was as a part of the Killion gang.
Longarm rode back over to the Paiute and said, “I have to be real honest with you, George. There could be men in this gang that recognize me even with my black hair and these old, ragged clothes. If there is, we’re going to have to go to war.”
“Maybe get killed quick, eh?”
“You’re packing a six-gun, and I know you’ve got one hidden in your coat. Are you any good with them?”
“Pretty damn bad shot.”
“I was afraid of that,” Longarm said. “Well, if someone calls out my name and I go for my gun, I won’t hold it against you if you were to spin that horse of yours around and ride like a bat out of hell.”
“I run, all right,” George said. “No use dying for white man’s trouble.”
“You’re right,” Longarm said. “And so I won’t expect you to do anything else. You’ve got a wife and kids.”
The Indian nodded in stern agreement and rode off to drive his horses into the small, brush-choked valley that held the town of Helldorado.
Longarm was tense as they approached the outlaw stronghold of Helldorado, but he felt confident that he would not be recognized. With his hair dyed black from the burned roots of a creosote bush, and wearing the old floppy hat he’d borrowed from a Pyramid Lake Paiute, Longarm was sure that he would not be pegged as a lawman. He looked exactly like an outlaw on the run who was dabbling with mustangs while trying to figure out a way to stage a robbery.
As they neared the town, Longarm could see that Helldorado had once been a pretty substantial town. There were three big, two-storied buildings made of stone, and the ruins of what had probably been a business district that had been ravaged by a fire, not an uncommon experience in these mining towns where water was scarce, liquor fueled fools, and there was usually not even a volunteer fire department until after the town had been razed.
Someone, perhaps Matthew Killion, had rebuilt some of the buildings and shops. There were several large corrals and even a wagon yard, although most of the wagons were dismantled and totally inoperative.
“Looks rough,” Longarm said. “I wonder how many outlaws Killion has living here.”
George shrugged, either to say he did not know or simply did not care.
“Okay,” Longarm said to his stoic companion, “here comes the chamber of commerce to welcome us.”
About ten hard-cases materialized from the saloon to form a line and block their progress. All ten of the men were heavily armed.
“You recognize any of them as Matthew Killion?” Longarm asked out of the side of his mouth.
“No. Big one with red shin and black pants is son.”
“That would be the mean one, Clyde,” Longarm said to himself as he judged the young man. Clyde was as tall as Longarm, but not as broad-shouldered. He was wearing a tie-down holster low on his thigh, and a sneer pulled his mustache down at the corners of his mouth. Clyde’s face was square and brutish, and the men flanking him were of the same disreputable-looking type. Any one of them looked as if they’d cut their own mother’s throat for a peso.
“Far enough!” Clyde commanded. “Just turn them jug-headed sonsabitches around and get them out of here before I make ‘em all buzzard bait!”
“Hold up there!” Longarm shouted, prodding his horse forward and reining around the mustangs. “We came to sell you boys some horses. They’s real cheap!”
Clyde threw his head back and guffawed, sounding like the braying of a sick mule. Longarm forced a smile and tried to look dumb and happy. “Howdy, boys! I got some good mustangs for sale and you won’t find ‘em any cheaper.”
Clyde stopped laughing and stepped out in front of the others. “I said for you and that Injun to turn them nags around and ride out before I shoot ‘em!”
Longarm reined up short. He knew that he had to somehow gain an invitation to Helldorado, and Clyde sure wasn’t making the task any easier. Not knowing what else to do, Longarm dismounted. He would continue to play it dumb and innocent.
