Highwaymen by Paul Lederer

Author:Paul Lederer
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781480487574
Publisher: Open Road Media

SEVEN

Laredo had given the matter long and serious thought on the way in to Mesa, and he believed he had come up with a solution to most of the mystery. The first highwayman had been identified as Hal Trevor, gunned down in his third attempt at a robbery. His motive had been revenge. The second man, they had no name for as yet. Frightened off, he had made his escape in the direction of Tres Palmas. The third was Mason Riddle, whom Calvin Poole, despite warnings, had hired to protect his interest. He had managed to make his escape with a lot of the banks’ gold. When Laredo had shot Riddle, he had taken to the desert, in the direction of Tres Palmas. Tres Palmas would have to be looked at more closely.

For now that would have to wait. In an odd way there was a pattern to all of Calvin Poole’s troubles. People didn’t like him and he treated them like dirt. Hal Trevor, or so the story went, quit because Poole was making suggestive remarks about his young wife. Poole had fired a stagecoach driver and his shotgun rider just because they weren’t equipped to halt a hold-up.

These two would hold a grudge for a long time. These two – Dane Hoffman and big Stu Faison – would know the workings of the stage line. It would be no trouble to them to find out which coach was supposed to be carrying gold for the east or currency to the west. Laredo wanted to talk to them. He hadn’t asked at the stage depot because for all he knew they had a confederate still working there, a man who could convey inside information. He didn’t want word getting out that he was hunting them.

Mesa wasn’t that big a town and Hoffman and Faison were well-known there. The favorite hangout of the Chicolote employees was the Golden Eagle saloon. It was there that Laredo swung down from his buckskin as the sky began to purple in the west and the sheer clouds he had noticed earlier reddened in the dying sunlight. Men in twos or threes began to make their way towards the saloon as night settled, their work-days completed.

Laredo waited for one loud group to tramp up on to the boardwalk in front of the saloon and joined them as they proceeded inside; he was inconspicuous among them, or so he hoped. Even through the crowd of milling, shouting men he spotted them easily enough. They sat in a small round corner in the farthest end of the saloon as if trying to isolate themselves from everyone. The broad-shouldered Stu Faison was loosely clasping a half-empty mug of beer in both hands. Dane Hoffman had nothing in front of him. His eyes were turned down, his head hanging a little. Both looked trail-dusty and tired. Hoffman had a large bruise on one cheek. Laredo started that way, easing through the crowd of laughing, debating, bellowing men.

‘Hello boys,’ he said.

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