Nick scanned the open windows above the worn waterfront saloon before dismounting. Not a soul in sight behind those gauzy curtains. Probably empty this time of day; overnight clients usually left earlier than Eli Wilson allegedly did. Most men didn't want to be noticed coming out of such a place in broad daylight. They would try to save what they could of their reputations after spending a night there, but Eli Wilson had made a scene by 'stumbling'out of the place at 3 pm, making sure he was noticed by not only passersby, but the sheriff himself. Nick didn't believe it was a coincidence. The wrong brother was in the lock-up.
A problem lay in the fact there was only one bullet that shot Heath. One bullet from one gun. Nick doubted Willie Clay had enough gumption to shoot a man in cold blood. He'd known the Wilson's long enough to figure that Willie was more mouth than action. He might have done most of the talking when he and Eli were spouting off about the Barkley's, but Eli was reserved. A thinker.
It was Eli who first accused the Barkleys of stealing their land. He had discovered sketchy calculations in his father's deed that might have given the Wilsons a little strip of the Barkley's prettiest grazing land through which most of the water for their south range ran. If diverted, it could have easily served the Wilson farm. Taking the accusation to court was a bold and calculated move for a farmer's son who had earned no more than a fifth grade education. Wilson's claim was so detailed that he had almost convinced a judge of the lie. Even Jarrod had been impressed by his shrewdness. He was capable of anything as far as Nick was concerned. He was the one whose confession Nick wanted to hear, and he'd get it if he had to tear it out of him.
He dismounted and approached the saloon.
Of all the saloons in Stockton, Nick had never actually walked into this one. Something about it made his skin crawl. Rumor had it that sometimes men went in Barbary Red's and never came out. As a rule, Nick didn't put much weight to rumors, but he kept his hand near his holster anyway as he entered the establishment.
As his eyes adjusted to the dark interior, the first things Nick noticed were the smell of tobacco and liquor and the tinkering of a piano being tuned. A couple of patrons, men in business attire sat among empty tables discussing papers and eating breakfasts. A young lady in plain clothing swept beneath the tables and a tall, bear of a man set up a register behind the bar. No one noticed Nick walk in.
"I'm looking for Barbary Red." Nick announced loudly enough so even people upstairs couldn't help but hear.
The piano went silent and all eyes looked at him.
"She's not here," the man behind the bar said. He shut the cash drawer. "She's in Sacramento. Won't be back for a few days."
The man seemed to think that was enough information to give and picking up a crate, he disappeared into a back room. The piano tinkering and conversing resumed.
Nick glanced at the dark-haired young lady in the back whose broom had gone still. When their eyes met, she averted her gaze to the floor and began to slowly brush at the dirt.
He walked to the bar and braced his hands against it, awaiting the man's return. When the man came out of the back room, the look on his face was that of resignation. "Alright, mister. Whatever Red's done, surely it's not something can't be fixed."
"We'll see about that." Nick straightened. "You say she's out of town. Was she here yesterday?"
"No." The man took a cigar from a tray and popped it in his mouth. He gave Nick a good hard look, then a slow smile spread across his face. "Name's Jack." He stuck out his hand in an easy, companionable way. "I'm the manager of this establishment. What can I do for you?"
Nick ignored the proffered hand. "You can tell what you know about a man named Eli Wilson."
Jack hardly flinched, but there was a perceptible change in his eyes. He let his hand drop to a cloth and began wiping the bar. "Eli Wilson," he said. "Don't know that I recall any man by that name."
"He was a patron of yours two nights ago." Nick put a hand on his hip, next to the holster so Jack might understand the seriousness of his inquiry. "His brother is in jail for shooting Heath Barkley. I'm Nick Barkley, so you can see why I want to suss out his story."
"Look, we run a respectable business here. And we don't go 'round dishing on the private affairs of our customers. Even if he did stay here, I wouldn't tell you about it. I don't care who you are."
Another man came up to the bar and stood close enough so that Nick could smell rancid liquor on his breath.
"Problem here, Jack?"
"Nah. He was just leaving, weren't you Mr. Barkley?"
Nick turned his head slowly to eye the newcomer. The man had a scar that ran from ear to collarbone and dark, heavy brows and freshly waxed mustache. His small dark eyes flicked over Nick, sizing him up.
"Think I'll take a whiskey," Nick said, eyeing the mustached man. "The road was dusty this morning. Left my throat a little parched."
"We only carry the expensive stuff," Jack said.
"That'll be perfect."
"It's alright Frank," Jack told the mustached man as he readied a glass. "Barkley gets one drink. Then he hits the road."
Frank nodded once and when Jack set the whiskey down, Frank swiped the glass and sauntered to a table.
"I guess you're paying for two, Mr. Barkley." Jack flashed a grin and handed Nick another whiskey.
Nick's lip curled, and he slapped a few bills on the counter. Taking the whiskey, he leaned against the bar and scanned the room again.
The girl with the broom hadn't moved from the spot. She let her gaze meet his this time, and she gave a perceptible nod toward the open back door. She glanced at the mustached man, a little more than nervous and then leaning the broom against the wall, she quietly stepped outside.
The mustached man still watched him from the table. He lifted his glass in a salutary gesture and downed the rest of the whiskey Nick just paid for. Nick felt a fire burn in the pit of his stomach. He so despised having to sneak out of this place just to see what a little barmaid had to say to him, especially when a stranger was trying to goad him into a fight.
Maybe he could do both.
Nick finished off the drink and set the glass on the bar. He walked over to Frank with the waxed mustache. "You owe me a drink, friend."
Frank pushed back from the table and stood. He spit on the floor. He was a thin man, but he stood at least an inch and a half taller. Nick spared a glance at Frank's gun belt. Frank reached for the buckle and started to remove the weapon. Nick cracked his knuckles and did the same. When both weapons were laid on a felt covered pool table, Nick smiled and threw the first punch.
Sometimes you know instantly when you've met your match, and sometimes it takes a few punches, a few chairs across your back, a few smashing tables to realize a simple error in judgment. This was Nick's moment of realization. Frank fought like a bull, but Nick had needed this fight more than anything.
They rounded each other, each looking for the next move. Frank sported a cut over his eye and blood trickled from his nose, but he smiled and appeared to be enjoying himself. Nick rolled his eyes and lunged. He heard a resounding "Oof!" when his shoulder made contact with Frank's midsection. They crashed into the now unmanned upright piano. The cacophony of the hammers hitting strings inside the contraption preceded a shotgun blast.
"I don't have no trouble with men who want to fight!" growled Jack. He held the shotgun high. "When they break my piano, they cross the line. You alright Frank?"
"Yeah." Frank sat on the floor panting; he spit blood.
Nick saw that his opponent was spent. It was too bad Frank chose the wrong man to side with. In another circumstance, they might have been friends. Nick got up, straightened his sore back and grabbed his gun belt from the pool table.
"Now, you get on outa here, Barkley," ordered Jack, "before I get the sheriff and have him arrest you for breaking up my place."
Nick eyed a water pump outside. "Just let me wash up first. Then I'll be on my way."
"You just hurry up." Jack snarled. "I've had it with you." Jack lowered the shotgun and stretched out a hand to Frank, who, Nick noticed, refused the offer of help and got to his feet on his own.
Nick slung his gun belt over his shoulder and limped outside. Maybe he was getting too old for this. He rubbed his jaw and ran his tongue along his mouth to make sure he still had all his teeth. That Frank had an incredible right hook and a left too for that matter. He leaned over the water trough and started to prime the pump.
"Let me do it," said the girl who had been waiting for him outside all this time. "You shouldn't pick a fight with Frank. He's cold. I seen him throw a man from the upstairs balcony and then sit and smoke a pipe like it was nothin'."
"Too late for warnings, Miss," said Nick. "I think I understand Frank about as much as I care too. I just hope he feels as bad as I do right now."
She laughed. "I watched the whole thing, and believe me, he does."
The water gushed out of the pump, and Nick splashed cool bliss on his face. He felt his nose to make sure it wasn't broken and cleaned up as best he could. His mother had enough to worry about without him dragging into the house needing medical attention.
The girl handed him a cloth to wipe his face. Nick gave it a once over and decided it was clean enough to use. He dabbed at the water and the bruises on his face.
"You wanted to tell me something."
"I do and Frank'll kill me if he sees me talking to you," she said, "but when you walked in earlier, I recognized you right off as Heath's brother. You got the same kinda look about ya...like, I don't know, like you own any place you walk into or somethin'. A girl notices things like that."
"How do you know Heath?" Nick never heard his brother talk about Barbary Red's. "He ever come here?"
She wrinkled her nose. "Gosh no, you think Heath would come into a place like this? My name's Sheila. I'm from Strawberry. I knowed Heath from a while back. Got me out of a real jam onced. I won't forget it." She glanced back at the saloon and then back to Nick. "When I heard about Heath bein' shot, I was all torn up. I didn't want to believe it. Is he gonna be okay?"
Nick let out a sigh and handed her the towel. "I don't know. He's in a bad way, Sheila. If you want to help, you need to tell me what you know so I can make sure the right man is punished."
"I know I'll be whipped for this." She closed her eyes and steeled herself. She fisted the towel in her hands. "Eli was here night before, but I remember him sneakin' away around five am. That's when I'm usually startin' work. I thought it awful suspicious for him to be all shadowy and leadin' his horse a good bit away before climbing on and riding off. He walked that horse a good half mile before mounting. I know 'cause I followed him."
"Did you see him come back?"
She shook her head. "No, but I was workin' in the dining room when seen him makin' his way back upstairs around one o'clock—or one thirty. I thought it strange that he didn't wear his spurs. Most men, they come in and too tired to take off their spurs before goin' up to bed. I'm used to hearin' the jingle as they go up. Eli was all quiet, and most men don't go upstairs till late anyways. So he kinda got my attention thata way." She looked up at him with wide green eyes. "Does that help you Mr. Barkley?"
"Does it help me?" He asked with a big grin spreading across his face. A cut on his lip opened up, and he winced. "Honey, you have just made this trip into Stockton worthwhile. I'll make sure Heath knows how Sheila from Strawberry helped put his attacker in jail."
Sheila bit her lip and smiled. "I'd be much obliged."
Nick took the gun belt from his shoulder and settled it around his hips. "I hate to accept your hospitality and run, but I have a man to find."
"You won't find Eli in town," she said.
Nick looked up. "You know where I might find him?"
She twisted the towel in her hands. "All I know is the sheriff told him to git out of town. To lay low a while. He might be back home. I aint sure though."
"Thank you, Sheila. You've been a big help."
"I'd do anything for Heath. He brought food for me and my momma when she was sick. I knew he couldn't afford it, but he gave anyway. A girl don't forget a kindness like that."
Nick smiled. "No, I don't expect she would."
She clasped her hands in front of her. "Could I…I mean, would it be alright if I visited when he's better and feelin' up to it? I'd like to thank him for bein' a friend to me when I needed it most."
"Why, Sheila, we'd be happy to have you."
She grinned. "I really need to go. Thank you, Mr. Barkley." She rushed off, back into the saloon to clean up the mess.
Nick slowly started walking around the perimeter of the saloon, working out the kinks in his step and the general, all-over soreness. It would be a long trip back to the ranch, where he'd rest up a bit and if things were going as well as could be expected, he'd head out to the Wilson farm. He didn't suppose he'd find Eli there, but it would be a good place as any to start.