Ransom (14 page)

“Maybe we'll drift over that way. Wouldn't hurt to talk to this Embry anyhow. Ask if maybe he's seen anything of my women.”

Hahn gave him a dirty look, which Taylor ignored.

“Women?” Randy asked, his head coming up and keen interest showing in his expression. “What women?”

“I, uh, guess maybe we forgot t' mention that last night. We, um, we're looking for some sons of bitches that kidnapped my wife an' daughter. They're holding 'em for a ransom.” He inclined his head toward Hahn. “Which Dick here is gonna arrange to pay.”

“You carrying a bunch o' ransom money, are you?” Smith asked.

Taylor did not know Randy-who-called-himself-Smith all that well and certainly was not going to trust the man with the idea that he and Hahn might be easy pickings . . . just in case he was inclined toward such things. “Hell no,” he said with a grunt and a turn of his head to spit. “I said Dick will arrange to pay, not that we're carrying a peck of gold with us. No, first we have to settle on a price and then see their bona fides, maybe bring my daughter back with us while we go back to town to fetch the money an' meet them someplace close in.”

“Damn, John, that's lousy. I sure as hell wish you luck with it,” Billy said.

“Me too, John. You can count on that,” Tony added. “If there's anything we can do . . .” Tony's voice trailed away and he became silent, looking faintly embarrassed at his own lack of usefulness in this situation.

“Yeah, sure,” Smith said although with considerably less conviction than was in the voices of his companions.

“Tell us again how to get over to this Embry's post,” Taylor said.

* * *

Embry's store was a full day's ride, which put it nearby by high country standards. It was not as handsome as Nate's had been, but it was a great deal larger. It lay at the mouth of a deep, narrow valley that had water but little wood.

“Why would anyone build in such a remote place?” Hahn asked as they descended a winding path down the north slope of the valley.

Taylor swiveled around in his saddle. “Could be he started out trading with Injuns and wanted to be out amongst 'em.” He grinned. “Could be he just hates folks and doesn't want t' see too many of 'em all to once.”

“That certainly clears things up,” Hahn responded.

“Always willing to help,” Taylor laughed. He turned forward in his seat again but left the reins slack so the brown could pick its way down without interference from him, it not being a good idea to disrupt the footing or the balance of a horse on a mountain trail.

The downhill side of this trail fell off at a less than precipitous angle, but even so it would be no easy ride to tumble off it. Hahn, Taylor noticed, kept urging his paint
close to the uphill side of the path. The paint was neither as steady nor as surefooted as the brown horse and it was not a good idea to interfere.

Not that it was John Taylor's responsibility to look out for Dick Hahn. If the man wanted to ride his horse off the side of a cliff, he was welcome to do so as far as Taylor was concerned.

“We'll be there in half an hour or so,” Taylor called back to the man.

* * *

“Pull the packs and set 'em over there,” Taylor instructed. “It's late, so we'll stay the night here.”

Hahn bristled. “Who the hell appointed you the boss?”

“All right, do what you damn please, but I'm staying here tonight. I intend to have a drink or two and get a good night's sleep. I couldn't sleep worth a shit last night.”

Dick Hahn scowled but he unloaded the packhorse as well as unsaddling the paint. Both animals, along with Taylor's, were turned into the spacious corral adjacent to the sprawling store. There was water from the nearby creek diverted through a trough inside the corral, and the hay bunk was nearly full.

Three horses and a mule were already standing head down and hipshot inside the enclosure. Their interest perked up with the arrivals of the newcomers. One large gray snorted and pinned its ears flat.

“Aren't you worried they might fight?” Hahn asked.

“They'll work out amongst themselves who is gonna be in charge,” Taylor said. “Now come on. Let's go see what this Embry fellow has in the way of food and liquor.” He
set off for the front of the store with Dick Hahn at his heels hurrying to keep up. Taylor, and therefore Hahn behind him, ignored the squealing and stamping of the horses left in the corral.

 

Ervin Ederle

Ah, now. Dark and dusky Mexican maidens. Two of them, naked as peeled eggs, their breasts like pointy little pears, smooth and firm and lovely. Bending over him to offer fruits and cervaza . . . and themselves. Oh yes.

Damn! Erv's eyes snapped open and the dream vanished. Not a bad dream, though, and one he intended to make come true in very short order.

He sat up and looked at the sleeping woman and her kid. They represented cash. They represented his future. They were what would allow him to make that dream happen.

He still was unsure what he would do with them once her man paid up. The sensible thing would be to just kill them and be done with it. If he was caught he would hang for the kidnapping. If he killed them, well, the sons of bitches could not hang him more than once. And anyway he was not going to be caught. He was an old he-wolf of the hills and he knew how to get along. Especially without the deadweight of a woman and a kid dragging him down.

On the other hand, there are times when a man needs a woman, and this woman, fancy though she might be, should be good enough for that.

Erv yawned, stretched, shifted over onto one cheek, and loudly passed wind.

He stood and took a drink from the water bag—damn shame he did not have any whiskey, which was what
he really wanted—and swished it around in his mouth for a moment to clear the foul taste of sleep before he swallowed.

He stretched again and grimly smiled to himself. Yes, sir, a man does want a woman at times and in the mornings most of all.

He stepped closer to the woman, curled on her side with the kid small in the bend of the woman's body. He reached out one foot and nudged the woman with the toe of his boot. More or less inserted it in the crack of her butt. She came awake with a start and rolled onto her back. He bent down and untied the loop of cord that had been around her ankles.

“What . . . ?”

“Get up,” Erv ordered, enjoying the power he had over her.

“Why? What?”

“You know what an' you know why. Now get up and come outside.”

“Please no.” Her hair was disheveled and there was a smudge on her left cheek, but she was still a handsome filly for all that.

Looking at her, knowing that she would do as he said, whatever he said, made his desire swell all the more.

Erv chuckled and said, “It makes no never mind to me, missus. If you want t' lie there beside the kid an' do it where she can get some education on the subject, well, that'd be just fine by me.”

The woman came quickly to her feet. She refused to look at him. But she would do what he told her to do. Whatever he told her to do.

“Outside,” he said.

Later, his immediate urges satisfied, he snorted and said, “I'm gonna untie you and your kid. You can cook
yourself something to eat. Whatever you can find there. Me, I'm gonna be gone for a day or two. Gonna go get us some supplies. If you want to run away you should ought to know that I'm taking all the horses. You'd be afoot and these mountains still hold hostile Indians as well as the wild stuff. Bears and mountain lions and coyotes and like that. So I wouldn't run was I you.” He laughed, the sound as much derisive snort as it was laughter. “But you do what you want, y'hear? Just don't hold me responsible do you get yourselfs killed up here.”

Ederle took up his canteen—the females could drink the snowmelt coming down the mountainside if they got thirsty—and catch rope. He took a last look around, then left the woman standing outside the mouth of the adit while he walked back down to the game trail and disappeared down the mountain and into the trees below.

Chapter 15

Phil Embry would measure larger around his middle than he did from floor to scalp. He had a round, smiling face and a thick, black beard but only a few meager fringes of dark hair rimming his head.

“Welcome, gentlemen. What can I do for you this lovely day?”

Taylor smiled back at him. “You always this friendly?”

“But of course. Have you come here to shop or, um, something else?”

“First off, Mr. Embry—”

“Phil. My name is Phil. Please call me that.” He practically beamed with pleasure.

“Yes, sir, of course,” Taylor told the man, “First off, do you have something to drink?”

“I have sarsaparilla.” Embry's grin was sly. “Or perhaps you were wanting something a mite, shall we say, stronger.”

“Right now I'd down a shot of mule piss if there was alcohol in it,” Taylor said.

“He would too,” Hahn put in from two paces behind. Taylor gave him a dirty look. Meanwhile Embry was busy setting out tin cups and a pottery jug.

“Fifty cents for a cup or five dollars for the whole thing,” the proprietor said.

“That seems kind of high,” Taylor said. He was accustomed to ten-cent drinks, fifteen at the most.

“Very,” Hahn agreed, moving up beside Taylor.

Embry nodded. “You gentlemen are welcome to go elsewhere for your refreshments if you prefer.”

Taylor laughed. “An' how far is it to the next town?”

“Forty miles or thereabouts. Maybe a little more.”

Taylor turned to Hahn and said, “Pay the man five dollars.” He picked up the jug and both cups and carried them outside, Hahn again following. But not until he handed Phil Embry a five-dollar half eagle.

* * *

“You're drunk,” Hahn said, his voice slurred.

Taylor considered the accusation for what seemed a long time, then leaned forward and said, “Y'know, you are right 'bout that.” Then he laughed, the sound much like a giggle except that grown men do not giggle. Ever. He thought about that and giggled again. That is, he laughed again.

The two were seated cross-legged on the ground, leaning back against the lowest rail on the corral fence. They had the jug placed between them and both cradled their tin mugs with care lest they spill any of Phil Embry's popskull. The liquor had been on the edge of being undrinkable to begin with but was tasting better and better as the level in the jug diminished.

“You hungry?” Hahn asked.

“I could stand something t' eat,” Taylor said.

“Then let's go get something to eat.”

“Good idea.” Taylor stood with some difficulty, having to grip the fence rails and use them to help pull himself upright. He was not steady on his feet, but he did manage to get upright.

Hahn was not so fortunate. He tried to stand, failed, tried again. And failed again.

“Now who's drunk?” Taylor taunted.

“You are.”

“Yeah, but you are too, you asshole.”

“Stop calling me that and help me get up, damn it,” Hahn said, waving one hand feebly.

Taylor leaned down, almost overbalanced, and grabbed hold of the fence to keep himself from falling. With his other hand he clutched the back of Hahn's coat collar and hauled the smaller man to his feet.

“Don't forget the whiskey,” Hahn said.

“Right. Can't forget the whiskey.” Taylor retrieved the crockery jug and in the fading daylight the two headed rather unsteadily toward Embry's store.

* * *

Taylor finished his bowl of red beans and rice, belched hugely, and stood up. He felt almost sober after his meal. Hahn was still eating. Taylor walked over to the counter where Phil Embry was talking to a customer.

“Gentlemen,” he said, nodding.

Both men turned to look at him.

“I hope you don't mind if I interrupt here,” Taylor said.

“No, we're just jawing,” Embry said. “Is there something you need?”

“There surely is. I'm hoping you can give me and the little fella over there some help.”

“That depends on what you're wanting. Can maybe I sell you some horses? This gentleman here just swapped me a pair of saddle horses complete with their riggings. I could give them to you cheap,” Embry said.

The large gentleman in question—he was as tall as Taylor but thicker in the body and much older—leaned an elbow on Embry's counter and looked bored.

“I'm looking for information,” Taylor said.

“About . . . ?”

“A woman and a little girl,” Taylor told him.

“Little girl? I don't traffic in them, friend. Women I have but a little girl? Um, I might know of a man who could help you with that but . . .”

“No, no, you got me wrong. I'm not looking for what you think. It's just that my wife and daughter have been . . .” He hesitated, then decided to go ahead. “They been kidnapped. I'm trying to find them. Trying to get them back.”

The customer swiveled his head first toward Hahn and then toward Taylor. He stood upright and looked from one to the other again. “Your wife, you say?”

“That's right. They was taken a couple days ago and we're trying to find the gang that took them.”

“A gang, you say?”

“Yes, sir, that's what the ransom note said.”

“Do you got a posse with you?”

“No,” Taylor said. “The note warned against telling anybody. I . . . maybe I shouldn't be telling this to you but . . . we got to find them. Got to. An' how're we gonna know if anybody's seen them if we don't ask? Tell me that much.” He shook his head, saddened and still more than a little drunk.

“So there's just the two of you going against a whole gang of kidnappers?” the big fellow asked.

Taylor decided perhaps he should not be quite so open about his and Dick Hahn's intentions. He shook his head and said, “Not going up against. We couldn't expect to fight a whole gang of men. We're just trying to find them to . . . what you might call ‘arrange' to get them back.”