Read Online Spanish Gold by Kevin Randle - Free Book Online Page B

her.
    â€œNow what?” she asked.
    â€œI’m going to circulate and see what I can learn. Maybe hit a saloon or two and listen to the talk. See if there is anyone interested in Spanish gold or in Apaches. Especially in the Apaches.”
    â€œAnd war news,” she said.
    Travis shot her a glance. “Why the war news?”
    â€œMy brother is fighting in the war. He’s with Robert E. Lee and the Army of Virginia.”
    Travis had heard that he had faced the Army of Virginia at Gettysburg. He thought of all the young men in gray uniforms killed as they tried to take Cemetery Ridge from the Federal forces. He thought of the dead men and the wounded men and young blood staining the sun-dried fields.
    â€œI’ll see if I can buy a paper,” he said.
    â€œHurry back,” she said, smiling.
    Travis turned and walked out the door. El Paso was a busy town in the middle of the day. The sidewalks were crowded with people—men, women, and children. The streets were filled with horses and wagons. Men stood in knots outside the marshal’s office, the newspaper office, and the saloons, talking. A few women stood close to the general store or the dry goods company. Kids, as always, were running around chasing one another or a stray dog or anything else they could find.
    Travis stood there for a moment and then stepped into the street. He walked across to the newspaper office where the latest war news was tacked to a board near the door. It was the story of a battle, drawn in the broad strokes of a headline writer that told him nothing but were designed only to attract interest. For the details, a newspaper was needed.
    And there was news from the territories all around them. Word of an Indian attack in New Mexico. A stage station burned and three people killed “most horribly.”
    But there was no talk of gold. No talk of the Spanish leaving their mark on Texas or the string of missions they built throughout the Southwest. Travis moved closer to the men and eavesdropped. They were more concerned with the way the war was going. The tides seemed to be turning with Lee’s retreat from Pennsylvania. Some were afraid of an invasion from the North while others said that no Yankees would live to cross the border into Texas.
    Travis turned and walked toward one of the saloons. Two men sat in chairs outside, watching the people walk by them. Another man sat at the edge of the boardwalk whittling. He was sharpening a stick, the shavings falling around his feet.
    Travis walked into the saloon and saw half a dozen men standing at the bar drinking. There was a table pushed into a corner where another five men were playing cards. A single woman with light-colored hair stood behind one of the men, watching the game carefully.
    He dropped a couple of coins on the bar and said, “Whiskey.”
    The bartender put a shot glass in front of him, filled it, and then backed off. Travis downed the drink in one swallow and slammed the glass back to the bar. “Again.”
    He took the drink and drifted toward the cardplayers. Travis knew that he had to be careful about where he stood. If any of the players thought that he could see their cards and was signaling to someone else, things could get ugly. He took a position near the stairs where he could listen to the bets and watch the players but where it would be nearly impossible for him to see any of the cards.
    â€œYou get me a beer, dear,” said one of the players, turning to the lone woman. He reached out and ran a hand up the outside of her leg.
    As she moved away, two men entered the saloon. Travis glanced at them, then away, and suddenly back at them. He recognized them immediately.
    â€œDamn,” he said. He drained the whiskey, looked around, and then set the glass on the stairs, pushing it over so that it was under the railing. Then, without looking, he ran up the steps, taking them two at a time.
    He reached the top and walked down