Brian Garfield

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Tags: Fiction, Westerns
yours?”
    â€œI guess not,” Boag said.
    Captain McQuade took a snap-lid timepiece out of his pocket and opened it and raised one eyebrow, and put the watch away. Boag said, “You got to be someplace?”
    â€œThere’s time. Got a bit of a ride ahead of us.” Captain McQuade glanced at the row of fierce Mexicans and shook his head and said under his breath, “Been a long time since I closed both eyes, Boag. You wouldn’t be looking for a job, would you?”
    â€œDoin’ what?”
    â€œSame kind of thing you used to do before the both of us got cans tied to our tails. Only this time you’d be my topkick instead of Captain Gatewood’s.”
    Boag said, very dry, “Which side, Captain?”
    â€œRebels.”
    â€œRuiz?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œYou hiring out mercenary, Captain?”
    â€œWhat else is a soldier to do?”
    â€œI don’t know, Captain. I ain’t sure I understand why you ain’t still in the Army. I mean I always thought they couldn’t fire officers.”
    â€œThey can put them on shelves someplace where they can’t do a damn thing for amusement. They wanted to post me to some Godforsaken Indian agency in Texas with a detail of four enlisted men. I don’t know a worse way to rot, Boag. I resigned and came here seeking adventure and usefulness and I imagine I’ve found them. But I can’t say I’m happy with the tools I have to work with. I’d be a much happier man if I had a man at my back I knew I could trust. These gentlemen you see here would slit your throat for a peso.”
    Boag kept his hat on while he ate, standing up at the bar. “So now you’re a captain in Ruiz’s rebel army.”
    â€œActually I’m a coronel. ” The doleful eyes beamed.
    â€œWell congratulations, Captain.”
    â€œHow about it—Sergeant-Major?”
    â€œI guess not, Captain, I got a few fish to fry. But thank you.”
    â€œPays a good wage, Boag. You draw down a hundred pesos every month and that’s in gold coin, and on top of that you can keep anything you loot.”
    â€œWell I’m obliged but no.”
    â€œWhat are you so bent out of shape about? Somebody step on your sore corn?”
    â€œI guess you could say that. You know anything about Mr. Jed Pickett, Captain?”
    â€œI’ve heard he used to scalp-hunt around here. Haven’t heard anything about him recently. What would you be having to do with the likes of him?”
    â€œJust looking to find the man, that’s all. He owes me something.”
    â€œI’d forget it, Boag, Jed Pickett’s as crooked as a dog’s hind leg. You go looking to get him to settle a debt and you’re just likely to spend the rest of your life all shot to pieces.”
    â€œWell chicken today, feathers tomorrow. I’d dearly like to catch up with Mr. Pickett.”
    â€œThey’ll take you apart and throw the pieces in the Gulf of California. Jed Pickett travels with a retinue, Boag. Fifteen or twenty men and the one that wouldn’t shoot you for the fun of it’s as rare as a pair of clean socks around an enlisted men’s barracks. Why don’t you just forget this debt of Pickett’s?”
    â€œI guess I just ain’t gaited that way.”
    â€œBoag, I must admit there have been times I suspected you had nothing but pork fat between your ears. This is one of those times. I recall you always did think with your fists, it got you busted three or four times and this time it’s likely to get you killed. Why the hell don’t you give it up and join up with me? We can have a hell of a fine time trying to kick over the pail.”
    Boag mopped up the last of the bean gravy with a crust of heavy bread. “Coffee, Captain?”
    â€œUh-huh.”
    Boag said to the barkeep, “Draw two,” and turned his back to the bar to hook his elbows over it.

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