Glorious (27 page)

“Anytime now, somebody will come to town and set up another livery,” he said. “I need to be prepared for the competition.”

“Would having a competitor rile you, Bob?” McLendon asked. “After all, you've been here from the beginning. You nearly lost everything. Now you're finally making money and someone might waltz in and take your play away.”

“All I ever asked for was a fair chance,” Pugh said. “If somebody else offers better mules at better prices, more power to him. Of course, I don't mean to make it easy for the bastard. Whoever comes and attempts it had better be ready to dig in and scrap. We got the corral all bigged up, we'll get some more mules, we're gonna be ready. Which reminds me: You've worked hard here, and I'm of a mind to invite you to be my partner in the business. You wouldn't need to buy in right up front. We'd figure a way for you to pay me back out of your part of the profits.”

“Why, hell, Bob.” McLendon was genuinely moved. “That's a generous offer.”

“It's not generous at all. I'd expect a partner to do all the hard work while I take my ease in the saloon. So, what do you say?”

“It's tempting. In some ways I've very much enjoyed my time here in Glorious. But soon I'll be leaving. I've said as much all along.”

“Because of the girl? People are moving in. There'll be other girls.”

McLendon shrugged. “Partly that. And there's the other thing. I've tried to tell you about Collin MacPherson, and you don't want to listen.”

“No, I don't. And I'll say this much: There's damn-all he can really do. I'm not selling my business. If he wants, he can start up his own livery here, but he ain't getting what's mine. Though he's got you spooked, he has no such effect on me.”

“You don't understand men like him.”

“I understand all that I need to. At least I don't waver. You're always saying you're about to be leaving and you never do. Make up your damn mind. If you're staying, be my partner. If you're going, get the hell gone. Now, let's have some beer.”

•   •   •

G
ABRIELLE WANTED
to know McLendon's plans too. She confronted him one afternoon when he dropped into the dry goods store to buy work gloves.

“You arrived in May, made it clear you were only staying for a week until the next Florence stage, now it's more than two months later and you're still here. Why?”

“I don't know. But it won't be too much longer.”

Gabrielle chewed on her lower lip, a signal McLendon recognized. She was furious. “It's inconvenient having you around.”

“That's not entirely true,” McLendon said. “I've done such a fine job at the livery that Bob Pugh offered me a partnership.”

“What? Don't tell me you accepted.” She seemed horrified at the prospect.

“No, I told him I'd be leaving. I meant it. You've made it clear that you're with the sheriff, so I have no reason to stay. Does Joe Saint still find my presence so bothersome? He hasn't indicated such to me, but of course you know him better.”

Gabrielle began sorting combs in a box, putting the smallest ones on top. “Joe is a gentleman as always. It's just that when you arrived you said you'd changed, and now you do things like assist Bob Pugh at the livery, and you helped Joe break up that fight, and you attempted to rescue Sydney Chau from that brute Ike Clanton.”

“She told you about that?”

“Of course she did. We talk. But the idea of you doing things for the benefit of others and not just yourself—it's troubling.”

“I don't see why. I've admitted past mistakes and am attempting to improve myself.”

She pushed the box of combs to the side of the counter and began folding a stack of bandannas. “I really think you're trying to change, and respect you for it. But you need to continue doing your improving elsewhere. That remains my wish, if it matters to you. Now, if you're in need of no other purchases, you might leave. Joe will be dropping in soon. I'd rather that he not see us talking.”

“It hasn't been much of a conversation.”

“Well, you'll have to settle for it, because it's all you're getting.”

McLendon was irked. He couldn't blame Gabrielle for not loving him anymore, but she didn't have to be so prickly.

•   •   •

W
HEN
M
C
L
ENDON
brought more dirty clothes to the Chau laundry, he was surprised to see Ike Clanton there. Ike handed some clothes to Sydney's mother and walked out, nodding to McLendon as he passed.

“I thought you barred Ike from this property for life,” McLendon said to Sydney.

“I did, but then a few days ago he came to see me at the camp and handed me a note. He said he'd leave and let me read it. There were only a few lines, about how much he regretted his act. He can't spell at all—he wrote ‘akt,' with a
k
. But the letter seemed sincere. So I said that we would do his laundry again. Grudges are impractical when running a business. I'd like us to make enough money so that Mother can eventually live in San Francisco in some comfort. She has sisters there, but it's an expensive city.”

•   •   •

I
KE SEEMED DETERMINED
to be on good terms with everyone. At night in the Owaysis he made a point of calling all the whores “ma'am” and politely asking if they had time for a turn with him. When the saloon was especially busy, he helped Mary Somebody serve beer and whiskey to the impatient customers. Where he once tried to entertain everyone with tall tales told in a loud voice, he now sought one-on-one conversations, often with town founders. Bob Pugh pronounced himself astonished by Ike's curiosity regarding the ins and outs of the livery business. Mayor Rogers enjoyed an evening's chat with Ike so much that he invited him to share coffee and sweets with him and Rose in their home the next morning.

“There are good qualities in Ike that I hadn't previously recognized,” Rogers said. “He had some insightful thoughts on the future of the farrier trade. Thinks there's about to be a pressing need for it down in the southeast territory, where the population will explode once the president's peace emissaries get things squared with old Cochise. I told him that I had a cousin who wanted to try his hand in the profession, and I'd pass the suggestion along.”

“That's odd,” said Major Mulkins. “I passed an hour yesterday with Ike, just the two of us sitting in my hotel lobby, sipping lemonade. Ike predicted that once Cochise was pacified, there'd be sizable new communities sure to spring up in the San Pedro Valley down past the mountains, since the rumors of silver and copper lodes are so prevalent there. He was saying how a man who had the first fine hotel down there could make a fortune, even more than here in Glorious. Not that I'd be looking to move, of course, and I told Ike so.”

“Why do you suppose Ike's suddenly so boosterish on other parts of the territory?” McLendon asked.

“As I have it from Ike, he and the other Clantons are looking to found a town of their own,” Mulkins said. “That's the big plan his daddy Newman's keeping secret. My opinion is that Ike and his kin want to use Glorious as a jumping-off point, learn what they can about how we succeeded here and then apply the knowledge on their own behalf elsewhere. It's a sensible approach.”

“And Ike Clanton's nothing but sensible,” McLendon said sarcastically. “Beware his ulterior motives.”

“Be a cold day in hell when Ike Clanton outfoxes me,” Pugh said, but McLendon was puzzled. That night he left the Owaysis early and waited out of sight around the side of the hotel. By eleven p.m. most of the saloon's other customers were gone. Ike was the last to come out. McLendon watched as he walked north toward the shack where the Clantons lived, then abruptly toward the west guard post where MacPherson vaqueros were stationed during the day. McLendon followed at a discreet distance. The town was still. Ike didn't look back. There was movement by the guardhouse and McLendon flattened himself on the ground. Angel Misterio appeared, leading two horses. He mounted one and Ike took the other. They rode off quietly in the direction of Culloden Ranch.

Now McLendon understood. Collin MacPherson had his spy, and was ready to make his next move.

I
t took Ike Clanton less than two weeks to completely overcome his previous bad reputation with everyone in Glorious but McLendon. Whereas his friends were charmed by Ike's fascination with and responses to whatever they had to say, McLendon recognized it as a gifted conniver's art; he'd used the same technique himself back in St. Louis to gain the trust of people he would later betray.

“Don't try your tricks on me, Ike,” McLendon told him when Clanton approached him in the Owaysis and said that they ought to chat. “I'm familiar with the game, and I know your intent.”

“I only intend enjoying your company,” Ike said, sounding hurt. “Let me buy you a drink and discuss any differences that remain between us.”

“Shall we discuss your recent alliance with Collin MacPherson?”

Just for a moment Ike's eyes narrowed. “You wouldn't want to be spreading that rumor about. I'd take it hard if you did.”

“What's your gain from it, Ike? What's the plan?”

Ike took a breath, and then the smile was back on his face. “Why,
my only plan is to enjoy my stay in this fine town and to hopefully share in its good fortune. I regret that your hard feelings toward me prevent us from being friends. And since there's no satisfaction to be gained from further talk with you, I'll bid you good evening and hobnob instead with my dear pal Bob Pugh, who I see has entered the saloon. He, at least, is always agreeable.”

Ike waved at Pugh, gesturing him over to a table. Then he yelled for Mary Somebody to bring him and thirsty old Bob “a pitcher of your finest lager, or at least the warm horse piss Crazy George always serves.” But he winked broadly to indicate that he meant to be entertaining rather than insulting, and when Mary brought the beer he gave her a dollar tip. He whispered something to her and she laughed. Then Ike turned his full attention to Pugh, who was soon yammering away while Ike listened, leaning forward and apparently hanging on every word.

McLendon sat at a nearby table with Mulkins and Mayor Rogers. He did his best to participate in their conversation about the latest wave of newcomers and how the Major no longer had even a few feet of lobby floor left to spare. Mulkins started telling about the crew from Florence that would be coming in mid-August to finish off the Elite's second floor. He was thinking of having them go ahead and add a third.

“Don't you think that'd be wise, C.M.?” he asked. “Say, C.M., did you hear me? Are you listening?”

“Sorry, Major,” McLendon said. “I heard you. A third floor. Why not?” He was preoccupied watching Ike and Bob Pugh. Among all of McLendon's Glorious friends, the livery owner was proving most susceptible to Ike. There was something in Pugh's makeup, McLendon realized, that craved admiration or at least respect. Ike had recognized this and now expertly played on it. He and Pugh sat together at the
table in the Owaysis for hours, and later when Pugh and McLendon were bedding down in the livery office—McLendon was wrapped up in blankets on the floor, since it was Pugh's night for the bed—instead of falling right to sleep, Pugh talked about Ike's latest comments.

“He thinks I ought to damn well dominate the livery business in the territory,” Pugh said. “The idea would be get out ahead of the next strike, set up in the southeast maybe well past Tucson, and have plenty of mules ready when all the prospectors arrive in the San Pedro Valley. Not, you see, get caught unprepared and have to catch up like I'm doing here. It makes sense.”

McLendon sat up. “Bob, what exactly did Ike say? Did he suggest how you should go about it?”

“Oh, he said something about how I should divest myself of my operation here so I could give full attention to the new venture. How a man can't be in two places at once. Then he got to describing the new setup, how much I could charge for each mule and so forth, so I never did mention to him how you and me are going to be partners. I thought you could stay on here and run this place while I went off to establish a new branch of the business. Don't worry, C.M., I ain't about to cut you out of anything. Now we better get some sleep.”

“That's not what I was worried about,” McLendon said. After a moment he continued, “You need to think about this carefully—”

But Pugh was already snoring.

•   •   •

E
ARLY THE NEXT AFTERNOON
Lemmy Duke came to the livery office. He greeted Pugh warmly and made a perfunctory nod in McLendon's direction.

“Bob,” he said, “Mr. MacPherson wonders if you might pay him a
call. He'd admire the opportunity for conversation. I could escort you to the ranch right now if it's your pleasure.”

“Well, now,” Pugh said. “Mr. Collin MacPherson wants to see me?” He sounded very proud. “Lemmy, I've got some important paperwork to finish up. Maybe you could drink a beer over to the Owaysis, and in an hour or so I'll be right along.”

“Sounds just right,” Duke replied. “See you there, Bob.”

As soon as Duke was gone, McLendon said, “What was that malarkey about paperwork? All you're doing right now is rolling smokes and bullshitting.”

“Never let on that you're at anyone's beck and call,” Pugh said, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. “It won't hurt Mr. MacPherson none to wait awhile. Don't you wonder what he wants with me?”

“I know exactly what he wants. He wants this livery. He's going to offer to buy it and tell you all about the great opportunities elsewhere, just like Ike Clanton did in the saloon last night.”

“Is he, now? Well, won't that be interesting.”

“Bob, I wish you wouldn't go.”

“Why is that?”

McLendon knew he was risking his life by telling Pugh about his own meeting with MacPherson, but he told about it anyway—the preliminary coffee and compliments, the discussion of Glorious's glowing prospects, the offer of brandy and a paid position as MacPherson's town spy.

“He means to own all the businesses here, Bob. He was open about it. He figures on buying everyone out and running off anybody who doesn't do what he wants. He's picked you out to start on because you've been playing so chummy with Ike Clanton. Ike took the offer that I turned down. He's working for MacPherson now. They figure
he's softened you up and you're ripe for cooperating. And after they get your livery, they'll go after the Major and his hotel, and George and Mary with the Owaysis, Charlie Rogers's farrier shop, even the Tirritos' dry goods store. Once a man like MacPherson starts, he never stops. Don't go, Bob. I fear for what might happen to you.”

Pugh looked thoughtful. “You say you got offered brandy?”

“Christ, Bob, I'm talking about a bad man with sinister intentions, and all you care about is brandy?”

“Well, I've never had any. I've heard brandy spoken of, even seen others drink it, but it was always too dear for my pocketbook. Look, C.M., I know your concern's well intended. But it strikes me that you're one of those who always thinks the worst of rich men. You think I don't know why Collin MacPherson's so wealthy? It ain't because he happened to be standing outside with plenty of empty buckets on the day it started raining gold. No, he's a man who sees opportunities and takes them. Sure, he wants my livery and the other businesses here, but he ain't gonna get 'em. None of us will sell out to him. We'll never be fuck-you rich like MacPherson, but we're finally in place to get some of our own. He can offer me all the money he wants and I'll turn him down. He don't like it, well, it won't cost me any sleep.”

“If you're not going to sell, why even go out there? It can't be just for brandy.”

“Shit, no, it's not brandy, though I hope I get some. It's that a rich man's asking to see me, ordinary ol' Bob Pugh. All my life, rich men stepped on me or ignored me altogether. Now I got something one of them wants. I'm going to enjoy the moment.”

“Don't go, Bob,” McLendon pleaded. “I've known other men like MacPherson. No good will come of it.”

“Well, I guess we'll see. Now I'm gonna cut a mule out of the corral
and go meet Lemmy Duke. I expect I'll develop a thirst on the ride out to the ranch.”

“Be on your guard.”

“Oh, I won't tarry that long. By dark at the latest I'll be back here buying you a beer and telling you all about it. If I'm somewhat delayed, commence to drinking without me.”

•   •   •

B
OB
P
UGH
didn't return to the livery that afternoon, or show up in the Owaysis that night. McLendon considered saddling a mule and riding out to Culloden Ranch; then he imagined the less-than-warm welcome he was likely to receive there. So instead, when it was past ten and Pugh still wasn't back, McLendon walked over to the town jail. For a change, the two cells were empty of drunks and brawlers. Joe Saint, his eyeglasses pushed up on his forehead, was nodding off at his desk.

“I need a word, Sheriff,” McLendon said.

Saint blinked a few times and lowered his glasses in place. “Is there trouble?”

“I think so. This afternoon Bob Pugh went out to see Collin MacPherson at Culloden Ranch and he never came back.”

The sheriff had trouble waking up. He yawned and said, “Maybe Bob stayed there for dinner and they're still talking. Bob can converse for a long time without pause.”

“No, I don't think it can be that. He said he was coming right back to town, by dark at the latest.”

Saint rubbed his face. “The Culloden hands have been saying again that they've seen fresh Apache sign.”

McLendon didn't think Pugh had come to harm at the hands of
Indians, but thought better of saying so. “Hadn't we better go look for Bob?” he suggested.

“I suppose that we should. You're right, this is worrisome.” Saint buckled on his gun belt. “If we ride out to Culloden, we'll need mules from the livery. Can you saddle a pair?”

They rode slowly out to the ranch, because of both darkness and frequent stops to call out Pugh's name. McLendon lost any sense of direction shortly after they splashed across Queen Creek, but Saint knew the way. When they approached the gates, the sheriff called out, “It's Joe Saint and McLendon. Let us in.”

After a few moments the gates swung open. Angel Misterio waited for the riders just inside the compound.

“You come calling late, Sheriff,” he said. “You, too, Señor McLendon. What is the cause of this visit?”

“Bob Pugh is missing,” Saint said. “I understand he came here earlier in the day.”

“Indeed, he did. But he left long since, riding his mule back in the direction of town. I cannot recall the exact hour, but it was well before dark.”

“He never got there,” Saint said. “I wonder if we might speak for a moment to Mr. MacPherson?”

Misterio frowned. “The
jefe
has retired. I prefer not to wake him. There's nothing to be done in the darkness anyway. As soon as the sun rises, if your friend is still missing I will send out some of our vaqueros as search parties to assist you. But in the meantime it would be best for you to return to town. Perhaps Señor Pugh has arrived there in your absence.”

“We want to talk to your boss,” McLendon said.

“It is not possible at this time,” Misterio said. “You would be wise to leave now.”

McLendon started to argue, but Saint said, “He's right, McLendon. At night we might ride within a few feet of Bob and never see him. Señor Misterio, we'll gladly accept any help you can give us in the morning. Let's go.”

As the gate shut behind them and they rode back toward town, McLendon said, “There's something wrong, Joe. You know there is.”

“I do, but we've got to stay sensible. Maybe Bob will turn up yet.”

McLendon sat up all night in the livery office. Mayor Rogers and Major Mulkins learned that Pugh was missing, and they joined in the vigil. Just before dawn there came the clopping sound of hooves on hard ground and the three men rushed outside. Bob Pugh's riderless mule was drinking from the corral trough, its reins dangling in the dirt.

“Shit,” Mulkins muttered. “This is bad.”

As soon as it was daylight, McLendon and Saint rode out again. They were joined by Sydney Chau, who told them that she needed to come along.

“It's possible Mr. Pugh may be hurt, and I could be of some assistance,” she said. “He's always been kind to me. I can handle a mule if you'll saddle one for me.”

Saint said they should begin by riding back toward Culloden Ranch. “We know Bob was there yesterday.”

McLendon was so concerned for Pugh that he didn't notice any discomfort during the ride. He and the sheriff and Sydney continually twisted in the saddle as they rode, scanning for Pugh in all directions. About halfway to Culloden they met a party of vaqueros led by Lemmy Duke.

“I'm heartsick about old Bob,” Duke said. “Let's hope his mule pitched him or some such thing and he's laying somewhere with maybe a broke leg, just waiting to be found.”

They looked most of the morning. When the sun was almost directly overhead, Duke sent out his vaqueros separately to widen the search area. McLendon, Saint, and Sydney stayed together.

“This is going to end badly,” McLendon said. “I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn't listen.”

“Talk him out of what?” Saint asked, but before McLendon could reply, one of the vaqueros galloped up.

“Señor Duke says to come at once,” he said. “They have found Señor Pugh.”

•   •   •

B
OB
P
UGH
lay behind a rock in a deep wash perhaps three quarters of a mile north of Culloden and a few hundred yards from Queen Creek. Three arrows protruded from his body, two in his back and one in the center of his chest. His throat had been cut.

“Fuckin' Apaches,” Lemmy Duke growled. “Slaughter a man like he's an animal. Damn it, Bob should have known better than to be out alone.”