15 Western Short Stories — page 62: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

62 WESTERN SHORT STORIES senting his conclusion that he'd take any job that came along. According to Casey’s opinion the big redhead was something of a fool. He’d come down from Central City to serve as an officer in one of Governor’s Qil- pin’s newly-organized volunteer com- panies, and that, to Casey, made no sense at all. Sure there’d be fighting back East. Maybe as far west as Missouri. Jeff Davis’ boys had Fort Sumter, and it was Casey’s guess they’d keep it, but there wasn’t any war in the Territory. Gilpin, who hadn’t been here long, was seeing a rebel behind every spruce tree in the Rockies, and a bunch of idiots, like Red Masters, had been crazy enough to volunteer. “T ain’t takin’ no job,’ Casey mut- tered. “I’m heading for California.” Masters’ hazel eyes darkened, but he held back the anger that Casey's words raised in him. “Listen, Dan. I didn’t know what was going on when I was in Central City, and I reckon you don’t know now. There's plenty of hell ready to boil over here in Denver. Just shut your big mouth and listen.” Casey did listen, and what he heard surprised him. A man at the bar was saying loudly, “All the South needs to do is to fire a few shots, and Lin- coln’s bank clerks will run plumb to Canada.” “Who the devil wants to hold the Union together,’ the first man snarled. “We’ll have the Yankee rag down...” The other man hit him. Within a few seconds the Confederate sympa- thizcr had been battered to the floor, IV ASTERS motioned toward the melee. “It goes on all the time. ' The town’s split right down the middle. They had a rebel flag flying over a warehouse on Larimer street a few days ago. A secesh doesn’t have a show here, but it’d be the same thing if a Unionist opened his mouth in the Alamo.” Casey ejaculated, “Golly, I didn’t figger it'd get past talk.” “It’s a long ways past that,” Mas- ters said grimly. “The secesh boys are armed and they’re tough. They’re in the minority, but most of the Union- ists figure like you. That means a small organized outfit can handle the sig bunch that thinks different but doesn’t do anything but think.” That laid it squarely in Dan Casey’s lap. He hadn’t had any use for the Confederacy and he didn’t now. It was just that the ruckus was a long ways from Colorado and it didnt seem to make much difference to any- body out here one way or the other. Now, looking squarely at Red Mas- ters, he saw that the big man had never been more serious in his life, and Masters wasn't one to get excited without cause. This business of get- ting drunk to forget Rose O’Hearn could wait. “All right, Red. What's the job?” The loud-talking secesh man had been throwm inte the strect. The Unionists had trooped back to the bar and were celebrating their vic- tory. “That’s all most of them are cood tor,’ Masters growled. He put his mouth close to Casey’s ear. “The Alamo is the center of sedition. Cap- tain John Tilton owns it. He’s a Tex- an and the boss man of the secesh crowd. Zane Ricker is his trigger boy who does what Tilton schemes up.” Casey nodded. He knew the Alamo well. Zane Ricker was one of the smartest gamblers in Denver, and Casey had lost more money over the table to him than he liked to think about. “It doesn’t do any good to raid the place,’ Masters went on, “but we've got to know what they’re plan- ning. Last week we planted a spy under Tilton’s nose. If he finds out why she’s there, he’d cut her throat the same as he would a man’s.” “You sent a woman there?” Casey demanded. Masters nodded. “She runs the rou- lette wheel. She’s supposed to find out what they’re up to. I don’t know whether she has or not. We can’t get in to talk to her.’ Masters grinned ruefully. “I tried it yesterday and the minute Tilton saw me, he had his fioormen throw me out. So I’m look- ing for somebody they won't figure is lined up with us.” “A woman,’ Casey growled. “Gad, comicbooks