Chapter 14

• Townvill had transformed in the age of iron and steam. Once a humble crossing of the ways, it had blossomed_ if only seasonally_ into a bustling cattle shipping point. During the annual round-up, when golden coins and burning ambition mingled in the dusty air, its two main streets teemed with cattlemen whose pockets brimmed with wealth hot enough to singe the very breeze. But for most of the year, the town sank back into a leaden-eyed sleep, as if in quiet resignation to the relentless march of time.
• At the heart of this paradoxical town reigned Ted Hardy, the Wells Fargo agent, a man whose dignity was measured not by the weight of his “doggies” but by the singular swivel-chair he commanded. In these rugged lands, where office jobs were scarce and hard-fought, the owner of a sturdy chair was a lord in his own right. Hardy’s position was magnified by the steady stream of cash that flowed through Townvill, which in turn gave him the respect and influence far out of proportion with the village’s modest size. In his sanctum a snug rear office bedecked with two brilliant calendars and a striking photograph of a blond beauty promoting a toilet soap_ he reigned supreme, while in the sweltering heat of the day he would seek refuge in the cool shade of his small porch, exchanging pleasantries with passers-by. His signature white collar and permanent bow tie, coupled with his lean features, crooked neck, and a prominent Adam’s apple that danced with his every word, marked him as a man of Yankee descent refined by the harsh beauty of the mountain-desert.
• One crisp morning, as the soft light crept through the dusty windows of his office, a new figure stepped inside_ a man built in rectangles, with a square face, ponderous shoulders, and square-tipped fingers that spoke of a man fashioned by the unforgiving geometry of the West. In the hazy glow that seemed to warm Hardy’s aging features, the newcomer’s keen black eye shone like an electric lantern suddenly switched on in a dark room. Although he wore the traditional cowboy attire, there was an exactness in his every gesture_ a precision that betrayed neither the languor of the frontier nor the wild abandon of an outlaw. He had a habit, almost mechanical, of clicking his teeth as he finished a sentence, a quirk that rendered him both inscrutable and compelling.
• “You're Ted Hardy, aren’t you?” the stranger inquired, his tone laced with a calm that belied the storm he seemed to carry within. His eyes, though speaking silently of amusement, hinted at a smile that never quite reached his lips.
• “I am,” replied Hardy with a measured nod.
• The man stepped further into the sanctum, closed the door behind him, and pulled a chair up. Folding his arms, he signaled that he meant business. Hardy, ever the consummate professional, shifted his position to ensure that nothing_ a stray movement, perhaps_ could hinder the smooth access to the holster at his right thigh.
• “Well,” Hardy began in a genial tone that couldn’t mask his alert curiosity, “I’m waitin’.”
• The stranger’s reply came swiftly. “Good,” he said, “I won’t keep you longer than necessary. In the first place, my name is Sam Riggs.”
• At that, as if a fine layer of dust were brushed from his face, Hardy stretched out his hand. “It’s great to see you, Riggs. Of course, I’ve heard about you_ everyone has. Now, let me send over a bottle of red-eye from the saloon. You look like you might be needin’ it. Are you dry?”
• Riggs chuckled, shaking his head. “Not dry a bit. Just five minutes ago, I quenched my thirst with_ water.”
• “Very well,” Hardy said, settling back into his chair, his posture returning to its accustomed regality.
• Then, with a sudden gravity that contrasted his earlier cheer, Riggs’s voice lowered. “Hardy, there’s crooked work afoot in this town.”
• “What in hell_” Hardy started, but Riggs cut him off with a firm gesture. “Get your hand away from that gun, friend.”
• “What the devil is the meanin’ of all this?” Hardy demanded, eyes narrowing as he scanned Riggs’s expression.
• “Very well done, indeed,” Riggs replied dryly. “But this isn’t a stage, and we aren’t here to perform theatrics. Let’s talk business like men.”
• Hardy’s tone turned testy as he replied, “I’ve got nothing against you, Riggs. Now, spit it out. I’m not exactly busy.”
• “That’s precisely it,” Riggs said with a subtle smile. “I want you to get busier.”
• “Thanks for the advice,” Hardy grumbled.
• Riggs leaned in, his eyes searching Hardy’s face with an intensity that was almost predatory. “Let me be frank with you. I’m not here because Wells Fargo sent me.”
• “Who has?” Hardy asked, the question hanging in the charged air.
• “My conscience,” Riggs said, a moment of silence following as his eyes held Hardy’s gaze.
• Hardy frowned. “I don’t get your drift.”
• After a pause in which Riggs’s eyes roamed Hardy’s features, he continued, “You’ve been flush for some time now.”
• “I haven’t been starvin’,” Hardy replied defensively.
• “There are several easy ways to pick up extra money around here,” Riggs suggested, his tone low and conspiratorial. “For instance, you know all about the Wells Fargo shipments. There are men in this town who’d pay a pretty penny for the inside scoop.”
• Hardy’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his voice tinged with skepticism. “You’re quite the joker, aren’t you, Riggs? And who might be your example?”
• “Cole Grimwood.”
• A slow, deliberate click sounded in the air_ as if a revolver had been cocked. “You have been taking Grimwood’s money,” Riggs stated bluntly.
• Hardy’s eyes widened. “By God, Riggs_ ”
• “Steady now,” Riggs interrupted, his tone suddenly hushed yet dangerous. “I have some promising evidence, partner. Would you like to hear a part of it?”
• “This country has its share of the world’s greatest liars,” Hardy remarked with a dry chuckle, “but I don’t care what you’ve heard.”
• “That saves my time. Listen straight. I can have you locked up if I want_ and then I can bring in that evidence. But I’m not here to do that. I’m here to use you as a trap to snare some of the worst of the lone riders.”
• “Nothing like putting your hand on the table, eh?” Hardy said, half amused.
• “No, there isn’t. Now, here’s what you’re to do,” Riggs continued. “I’ve got four good men in this town. Two of them will be posted around your office at all times. Maybe you can find a use for them_ keep an eye out for visitors, riders the government wants. You won’t have to lift a hand. Just see the visitor off as he leaves: if he’s all right, say ‘So long, we’ll be meeting again before long.’ But if he’s the man I want, you say, ‘Good-bye.’ My boys will take care of the rest.”
• Hardy’s eyes glittered with both interest and a dawning realization. “Go on, Riggs. Tell me the rest. It starts well, doesn’t it?”
• Riggs’s smile faded into a serious, almost somber expression. “It does indeed_ and it ends with you reaching over, shaking my hand, and saying ‘Yes!’”
• Leaning forward, the intensity in Riggs’s eyes turned cold as he extended his hand to Hardy. Without thinking, Hardy reached out impulsively, wringing Riggs’s offered hand before retreating back into his chair with a burst of hysterical laughter.
• “The real laugh,” Riggs murmured quietly, “will be on the long riders.”
• “Sam,” Hardy said, his tone now more resigned than amused, “I reckon you have the dope. I won’t say much except that I’m glad to be free of that rotten business at last. Once I started, I couldn’t stop. I did one ‘favor’ for these devils, and ever since, they had me in their power. I haven’t slept for months_ and I’m fixin’ to catch some sleep tonight!”
• He wiped his face with an agitated hand, and his eyes flickered with exhaustion and bitter relief.
• “A week ago,” Hardy continued, “I knew you were detailed on this work. I’ve been sweating all the while. Now that you’re here_ why, I’m grateful beyond words!”
• A faint sneer played on Riggs’s lips before he shifted the conversation. “You’re a wise man, Hardy. Tell me, have you seen much of Cole Grimwood lately?”
• Hardy hesitated, the role of informer weighing on him. “Not directly,” he admitted.
• Riggs nodded slowly. “Now, put me straight if I stray off course. As I understand it, Cole Grimwood commands about twenty gunfighters and long riders working in gangs, pooling their strength for big jobs.”
• “That’s about it,” Hardy confirmed.
• “Inside his circle are Cole himself; Ted Danny_ a man who went astray when the law wronged him; Jim Case_ a cunning devil; and Will Durov_ a born fighter with a thirst for blood.” Riggs’s voice was low, deliberate, each word laden with hidden meaning.
• “Right,” Hardy said, his tone curt.
• “And here’s something more. For Cole Grimwood, dead or alive, the government will pay ten thousand dollars. For each of the others, five thousand. The notices haven’t gone out yet, but they will in a few days. Hardy, if you help me bag these men, you’ll net fifty percent of the profits. Are you in?”
• For a long, charged moment, silence reigned before Hardy’s hesitation melted into outright enthusiasm. “Easy money, Sam. I’m your man_ hand and glove.”
• “Don’t get too optimistic,” Riggs cautioned, his voice dark with forewarning. “This game isn’t over yet. Unless I make the biggest mistake of my life, we’ll be guessing again before we catch Grimwood. I’ve trailed some fast gunmen in my day, and I reckon Grimwood will be the hardest nut to crack. But if you do your part, we might land him. I’ve got a tip that he’s holed up out in the country near Townvill. I’m ridin’ out alone to get his trail. As I go, I’ll let my men know that you’re clear for this business.”