"Jim, I've got someone here I'd like you to meet."
Jim Santana looked up from his supper into the eager face of his youngest gang member, Hannibal Heyes. Across the table, Wheat Carlson sighed loudly and put down his fork.
"I am eating now, Hannibal. Is this so important that you must interrupt my meal?"
"Yeah, Jim, I think it is. He just may be the kind of man you've been looking for."
"Oh, now you know what kind of man Jim's lookin' for, do you, Heyes?" Carlson said. "Guess you must be some kind of genius after all."
Santana glanced at Carlson and spoke quietly. "That's enough, Wheat."
"I don't mean nothin' by it, Jim."
Santana didn't reply. He understood the power of silence and used it to maintain control over strong men. He stared at Carlson until Carlson looked away. Santana turned his attention back to Heyes and saw quiet satisfaction there. He knew Heyes was pleased to see his rival, Carlson, put down, even a little. That was alright with Jim Santana. A little rivalry between gang members meant they were less likely to form alliances against their leader.
"Who do you think I am looking for, Hannibal?"
"Someone to replace Cordwell after he got took, Jim. A munitions man."
Santana looked around the dingy saloon. "Are you telling me you have found a dynamite expert in this place?"
Heyes' expression was serious. "Yeah, Jim. He's got experience in Kentucky, where he's from. And he'd fit in real well, too."
Carlson snorted. A quick look from Santana, and Carlson rediscovered his fascination with his plate. Maybe it was time to remind Heyes who was leader, too. Barely 20 years old, Heyes was real smart and knew it. He required different handling than Wheat Carlson, to whom original thought was a stranger.
"I will be the judge of that, Hannibal. Bring him to me, and I will decide." Grinning, Heyes disappeared back into the crowd.
Carlson looked up. "You still want a powder man? I thought Heyes was supposed to be so good opening safes and suchlike, we didn't need no powder man a 'tall."
"That's correct, Wheat. You didn't think. You have no imagination. That's why I have Heyes. His job is to think and to plan. Your job is to carry out my orders. If that no longer agrees with you, you are welcome to find another gang that can use your skills." Santana watched a slow flush darken Carlson's face.
"Do you wish to stay with Devil's Hole, Carlson? Or do you wish to move on? Tell me now, because I will not require your advice on this powder man Heyes is bringing over if you plan to leave."
Carlson mumbled something into his beer.
"I can't hear you, Carlson. Stay or go? Which do you wish?"
"Guess I'll stay."
"You guess you'll stay. You are not sure? I will not keep you against your will, Carlson. Which is it?"
Carlson coughed. "I'll stay."
Santana nodded. "Very well. I will allow you to stay – as long as you remember who is in charge. Are we clear?"
Carlson finally looked up and attempted a smile. "Yeah, sure, Jim. Real clear."
"Good. I am glad we understand one another." Santana was pleased. He preferred not to lose a solid lieutenant like Carlson, but nothing was more important than maintaining control. Anybody could be replaced, if he started getting the wrong kind of ideas. There could only be one pack leader, and that was Jim Santana. Carlson's voice interrupted his thoughts.
"You don't suppose that's Heyes' idea of a powder man, do you, Jim?" Santana twisted in his chair to look where Carlson was pointing. He saw Heyes escorting a short, dirty blonde-haired man towards their table. For a moment, Santana shared Carlson's surprise. This little man was the most unprepossessing excuse for a dynamite expert he'd seen.
"Looks don't matter in an outlaw, Carlson," said Santana. "If they did, do you suppose I'd keep you around?"
Carlson shot an aggrieved look at Santana before turning to greet Heyes and his companion.
"Jim, allow me to introduce Kyle Murtrey, lately of Frankfort, Kentucky, and now a citizen of the great territory of Wyoming. Kyle, meet Jim Santana, the leader of the Devil's Hole Gang." Heyes did not bother to introduce Carlson, a slight that was missed by no one except, apparently, Kyle Murtrey.
Murtrey removed his battered brown hat and held it against his chest. "Pleased t'meetcha, Mr. Santana, sir. And your friend, too." His smile revealed bad teeth browned with tobacco stains.
"This gentleman's name is not important right now, Mr. Murtrey. If Heyes will bring over some chairs, you both can sit down and we will get better acquainted."
"That's real decent of you, Mr. Santana, real decent." He settled into the chair Heyes brought over and spat a stream of tobacco juice towards a distant spittoon. He missed. Heyes winced. Santana liked order. Kyle's appearance might be messy, but his work would be orderly. He hoped he could get Santana to see that.
"Mr. Heyes tells me you are familiar with dynamite."
Murtrey nodded vigorously. "I shore am. I got lots of experience blowin' things up."
"Things you meant to blow up?" Wheat asked.
"Well, shore! Well, not at first, but I learned quick."
Carlson snorted. "You ain't still learnin', are you? 'Cause we don't need no trainees."
"Well, sir, a man's always gotta be learnin', don't he? Else he might's well just up and die. So yessir, I'm learnin' all the time. But I already got a fair amount of learnin' done with dynamite and suchlike."
"Tell me where you did this learning, Mr. Murtrey," said Santana.
"Oh yessir! Well, like Heyes here done told you already, I'm from Kentucky. That's coal minin' country, you know. I started out diggin' like lotsa fellers, but then I seen it was the blasters that made the real money. All they had to do was set the charges, and then step out and let 'er rip. That seemed a far sight easier t'me than diggin' all day. So's I got to be friendly like with some fellers in the blasting department, and they done taught me a lot. I spent two years workin' in them mines as a blaster."
"And what's special about that," Heyes said, "is that the life expectancy for a blaster is something like six months. Kyle worked four times that long without an accident."
"Yessir, Heyes is right, it's some dangerous. But I jes' had a knack for it, I guess." Kyle smiled again. Santana found himself smiling back. There was something likeable about this dirty blonde dwarf.
"So if'n it was all sunshine and roses, how come you left?" Carlson asked. "Seems like you had it some good there."
"Oh yessir, I sure did. But you know, I jes' got me a wanderin' soul. I knew them hills of Kentucky like the backa my hand, I did, 'cause I blowed up so many of 'em. I jes' wanted to come out west and see the mountains. And so here I am, a-sittin' with you fellers right now. Ain't it funny the way things work out?" And he looked around the room like a child who couldn't believe his good luck.
"You know who we are, don't you? You know what we do?"
More vigorous nodding. "I shore do, and I tell ya, I am plumb excited 'n grateful that I met up with ol' Heyes here in that there poker game. 'Specially since I wasn't doin' so good in that game."
Heyes leaned forward. "Jim, I can honestly say, Kyle may be the worst poker player I have ever seen. And the most enthusiastic. He needs to make some real money to pay off his debts, and it's a sure thing he won't make any money with his card skills. When he told me what he'd been doing for a living, I thought his talents might fit with the gang's needs."
Santana turned to look steadily at Kyle. Carlson and most of the other gang members would cringe at the intense expression on Santana's face. Murtrey just sat up straighter and smiled broader. He looks like a big silly puppy, Santana thought. You just wanted to scratch behind his ears and make him smile more. He noticed Carlson was relaxed and smiling, too.
"Mr. Murtrey. Sitting next to you is Wheat Carlson. You already know Hannibal Heyes. I think you might make a fine addition to the Devil's Hole Gang. What do you say?"
"Whooee! I cain't believe my luck! I'm ridin' with the Devil's Hole Gang!"
Hannibal Heyes sat back and watched Kyle shake hands with both Santana and Carlson. He felt it was safe to smile now. He'd seen Kyle's peculiar charm work its magic on two hardened outlaws. Now he would have a reliable powder man to work with, and one who owed his place in the gang to him. Kyle would be the beginning of Heyes' power base within the gang. Heyes knew he was young. He had the time to plan and be patient.
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