"Take the damn bottle! You ruined it!"
"Jesht... jesht took a drink," Eli said, his lower lip trembling in the way that always made Cain want to backhand him. "I'll buy ye 'nother bottle, Cain."
"Son of a bitch!" Cain wheeled on Eli, grabbing him by the shirtfront. "I don't want any more damn whiskey! I told you that as soon as I was finished with that woman upstairs we were going after MacQuade. We have to pick up that bastard's trail before—"
"You lookin' fer Garret MacQuade?"
The deep voice made Cain release his brother, turning narrowed eyes to a grimy-looking man who had just bellied up to the bar. "Could be. What business is it of yours?"
The man scratched at the gray skin of his neck with filthy fingernails. His eyes narrowed, a sneer curling his lips. "None at all, I guess. Jest that I wouldn't mind seein' that bastard slit belly t' chin with that knife o' yers, friend."
"Is that so, friend?" Cain said with a silky smile. "Well, me an' my brother here would like nothing better than to accommodate you."
The man guffawed, slugging down the remains of a warm beer.
"Name's Cain Garvey. What's yours?"
"Charlie Spader. Best damn trail guide east o' the Great Divide. Woulda been on a job right now if it hadn't been for MacQuade." Spader spat a stream of tobacco juice onto the wood floor. "Was gonna take some pretty gal all the way t' Texas afore that bastard stuck 'is nose in. Would even 'a' tolerated those brats o' hers jest t' get a chance t' give 'er a ride on my pistol, if'n ye know what I mean."
Suspicion stirred in Cain, and he motioned to the barkeep for another bottle. Taking the questionably clean glass from the man, he poured Spader a shot. "If you'd be willin't' help my brother and me, Mr. Spader, you could have any whore in the house, on me." Cain reached into his pocket, pulling out a clump of bills. "Would you like that, Spader?"
The man eyed the bills with contempt. "If I had money like that, mister, wouldn't waste it on no whore. Naw. Get my women willin'-like, I do. But if ye got that many greenbacks to throw around, well, you could damn well throw a wad more of 'em my way, if ye want any more in-for-mation."
Cain's lips froze in a grin, only the crowded room keeping his knife from Spader's throat. Garvey forced a laugh. "Well, friend, I'm always ready to deal—providing a man's playing with an honest deck."
Spader guzzled down the whiskey, then belched. "I don't think you've ever touched an honest deck in your life. But then, I admire that in a man."
"Do you?"
"Yep. I do. And that's why I'm gonna tell you everything I know for"—his gaze flicked to the money—"say, double that."
"Li' hell!" Eli roared. "Cain, lemme wring th' li'l weasel's neck! We're not gonna—"
"Eli, Eli, break his neck and he can't talk, can he? No. Mr. Spader here is a businessman. Can't fault him for driving a hard bargain. Only problem is... well, Eli an' me don't keep that kinda money on us. Keep it hid away so nobody gets the idea t' roll us for it,comprende?"
Spader sneered. "If you think I'm gonna spill my guts without that money, you're sadly mistaken. Naw, Mama Spader didn't raise no fools."
Cain chuckled, trying to keep his mounting fury from his eyes. "This much I promise you, Mr. Spader. You give us the information we need, and you'll get exactly what you deserve."
Eli gave a snort of disgust, but Cain ignored it. Slowly Cain drew his pistol, holding it up to the light. Spader's eyes widened a trifle, wary. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna put a bullet in you. Like I told Eli, dead men don't talk. I want you to take this as an assurance that you'll get the rest of your payment. It's inlaid with silver. Finest weapon made."
Spader took the gun, his fingers smudging its shiny surface. But his eyes lit up with approval.
"You keep that, Spader, until we go to get the rest of your money. Oughta make Mama Spader right proud o' how smart you've been."
After a moment Spader nodded, shoving the barrel into the waist of his pants. "Seems fair enough. What'd ye want to know?"
"Tell me about this woman. Where she was going."
"Goin't' Texas. Thought she was plumb crazy, but you know them damn foreigners. Cain't tell 'em nothing."
"Foreigners?"
"The woman. She was one o' them Irishers. Talked real odd. Had the deed to some little patch o' dirt. An old man give it to her afore he died."
Cain's muscles tensed, as if he could already scent blood. It had to be her—the yellow-haired slut who had interfered in their pursuit of Kennisaw Jones. That was how the old bastard had made it this far, wounded as he was. That was how he had managed not only to escape, but most likely to have warned MacQuade as well.
MacQuade would be looking for them, be alert, ready. But that was just fine with Cain Garvey. He always liked a challenge.
