Chapter Five -- Heads Up!
The ranger barely dared to breathe. This strange woman might hold the answer. "So what is it, Sarah?"
"It's a big seal."
"It's a WHAT?"
"If you heard it you would believe me. I don't know how it survives here, but it does."
"Sarah, a seal has to live in the water. It can't live on the desert."
"Why? They breathe the air, don't they? And they can walk on their flippers. I tell you, the creature is a seal. Maybe he is a new species."
"One that eats beef?" asked the incredulous ranger. He had gathered that she was a little off, but now he revised that belief. Sarah was downright nuts. It was time to go.
She saw that he was going to go. "Be careful out there, ranger. Watch out for Lost Canyon. The Indians avoid it, and I think it's because the creature lives there. Stop by when you come back this way."
"Thank you, Sarah. I will. Is there anything I can bring you?"
"No, the Indians bring me everything I need. Watch out for them, too. You've got a nice scalp."
"Thanks, I guess. See ya."
As he rode off it occurred to him what was missing. She said that cat was after her chickens. He hadn't seen a trace of a bird around the place.
Hagan was getting nowhere fast. Crazy women and creatures of the devil were not in his normal line of work. Lost Canyon! As far as anyone knew for sure that place was just imaginary. It was supposed to have a year round supply of water, and was frequented by desert bighorn sheep, pumas and small Sonoran whitetail deer.
It sounded like an idyllic place, but to the best of his knowledge it didn't exist. The mountain men and then the ranchers had been here for over fifty years, and they hadn't seen it. The Spaniards had frequented this area for the last three hundred, and while their lore of lost places was rich they didn't know of its whereabouts, either.
A mythical creature in a valley that didn't exist. It was the perfect match.
No sense looking for that. The outlaws he looked for must congregate somewhere. It was the nature of the beast. In general outlaws liked to gather in some saloon and spend their ill-gotten gains as rapidly as possible. The town of Sierra Vista was the most likely place Hagan could think of for such frolicking.
Marshal Wes Smith kept Sierra Vista walking the straight and narrow. He was a good man that Hagan had met before. Smith only concerned himself with what happened in his town, though. No matter what a strange rider was reputed to have done, once in Sierra Vista Smith only asked for peace and quiet. If trouble occurred the marshal was well prepared to handle it. A veteran of the War Between the States, he had since fought Apaches and outlaws on a pretty much full time basis. It would take quite a bit to surprise him.
Not a soul was stirring as the ranger rode down the dusty street and hitched the roan in front of the jail- house. The marshal was stretched out in his chair with his feet up on his desk. Hagan looked at him for a minute, then slowly picked up a shotgun off the wall rack.
"I heard you coming when you were half-way from Tombstone," said Marshal Smith. "But if you're looking for a shotgun that's a good one to take. It's an eight gauge and I couldn't tell you where you might buy some shells for it."
"You should try to calm down, Wes, you're just a bundle of nerves."
The marshal now stood up and proffered his hand. "How are you Bud? I haven't seen you since we chased Sancho three years ago."
"That's right, it has been a while, hasn't it. If we hadn't have run down that Mexican when we did I think I might have given up the law and became a gambler."
"What? You can't even play Slap Jacks without losing your shirt."
"Yeah, I know. It's a good thing we caught that Mexican."
"There will be more of them. There's always a new outlaw south of the border and usually they come over here for easy pickings. The Mexican pack trains carry a lot more valuables, but they have a lot more guards, too. Around here we put ore on a stage and send it out with one man riding shotgun. No wonder they come up and try their luck."
"But look at the men we use for shotgun, Wes. One of our gunfighters is as good as a squad of half trained soldiers."
"He is here, because his reputation is known. A lot of Sonoran outlaws don't know about those reputations."
"They learn about them fast, or they die. Of course, they did get Jack Halloway last month."
"And six months ago it was Tom Kerrigan," added the marshal. "I would hate to be a shotgun rider."
"Yeah, right, you prefer to face down an ugly crew while standing in the middle of the street."
Smith had to grin, "Nobody said being a lawman would be easy."
"Or safe. How about showing me some hospitality and buying my breakfast?"
"I might have known. The first time an Arizona Ranger shows up in town in three years, and I have to spring for his food."
While they walked down to the Last Chance saloon the marshal filled Hagan in on the troubles of the town.
"I'm on the lookout for three Twombly brothers," he confided. "I caught their brother Luke when he was high tailing town with the loot he had taken when he robbed a gambler. He wasn't killed in the shootout, but I wounded him good enough to take the starch out. Now he's doing fifteen years in Yuma and his brothers blame me for it. Like I took him by the hand and made him pistol-whip that gambler. Anyway, I heard through the grape vine that the other brothers wouldn't have been half so mad it I had killed him. They figure it's inhuman to send a man to Yuma. Come to think of it, they may be right."
"I did hear the devil gave up Yuma because it was too hot," said Hagan. "And speaking of the devil, have I got a story for you." With that he told Marshal Smith the story of the robberies on the desert and the strange creature that people claimed they had seen and heard.
"That, my friend, is one strange story," put in the marshal. "There must be something to it if more than one witness said the same thing. Perhaps you're right when you say it's two men in a horse costume. That would be an eerie sight in the moonlight."
"Have you seen anybody that seemed like a good candidate for the rear end of a horse? No, never mind, the saloons are full of them."
"You've got that right. I'm going back to wait in my office."
"They are coming, then? I'll try to be close by to lend a hand," offered the ranger.
"Thanks, I just might need it."
Bud Hagan went down the street to another saloon and sat at the bar. This was the best way that he knew of to pick up information. The man that could just sit and listen heard a lot more than one that was talking and asking questions. The ranger grinned to himself. Maybe that was just his excuse for being lazy.
When the bartender came over Hagan ordered a whiskey. The ranger didn't drink much, and he could sip on that drink slowly enough that it could last two or three hours. It was only ordered so that he would blend in with the rest of the patrons.
One of the tables was engaged in a serious game of stud poker and only necessary calls for cards came from that direction. Down the bar a couple of old timers talked about the possibility of another big mining strike waiting to be found in this area.
The ranger's interest picked up when a band of three riders hitched their horses out at the rail and walked up to the bar. Each one rode a better cayuse than a regular cowboy could afford on ranch hand wages. That was the first reason to look them over twice.
The second was that they were obviously gunmen that were always ready for trouble. Their weapons were always ready, and the men sat at the corner of the bar. In this manner one could watch the rear door and the other two the front. This was not spur of the moment - this was an ingrained action.
Each of the men checked Hagan out in the back bar mirror but there was no recognition. He had slouched forward so that his vest would cover up the Arizona Ranger's badge. To the casual glance he looked like a tired man having a drink after a long ride.
Once they had drinks in their hands the men started to talk. "Did you ever think it would go that smooth?" asked the blond headed man that watched the rear.
"Easy with what you say," commanded the tall man in the center, who must have been the leader.
"Ah, don't sweat it, Ed. There's nobody in this room who cares what we do. Or in this town, for that matter, as long as we don't have any fights here."
"I guess you're right. I'll never figure Wes Smith out. They say he won't even bother a man with a price on his head, but I know for a fact that he's hell on wheels with a six-gun."
"That is a blessing for men such as ourselves. All living things need occasional shelter from the storm." This was from the well-dressed man closest to the rear entrance. He sounded like a more refined fellow than the other two.
It hit the ranger a second later. This must be English Dan! He was one of the lesser know legends of the west. As a lad in England he had engaged in one too many duels, for that method of settling disputes had been banned some years before. Therefore he was remitted off to America with his clothes and enough money to finish his education.
Whether Dan had done this or not was anybody's guess, but he did discover that he was a good gambler. When on a Mississippi riverboat he also discovered that dueling was still practiced here, although in a very different form. Being naturally adept, he practiced daily and succeeded in becoming a very dangerous man.
He did hunt trouble, and not many men cared to keep him company. The fact that these men were with him showed their caliber.
"However, there has scarcely been a storm to take shelter from. I know this was supposed to be a foolproof plan, but rarely do such operations succeed so admirably.
In fact, this step of my career has become filled with ennui. Perhaps it is time for a change."
"Dan, you're bloodthirsty." This was the tall leader speaking. "For once in your life you're in on the perfect crime, and you complain because you can't plant some poor soul on Boot Hill."
"Let's get on with our drinking and forget about shooting," said the towhead. "What's the use of sitting out there in the desert if we don't have a good time with the loot? King paid us well, and I aim to burn up some of my share." With that he motioned for another round of drinks. He waved down the bar and included Hagan in his generosity.
When the ranger turned to nod his thanks his vest opened up. The eyes of all three outlaws were on his star!
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