If that was true and Doucette was on his way to Vengeance Creek, he’d be there any time, now. But Shaye still wished he could have gone after the Fleming brothers with his sons. They were grown men, but they’d be doing a lot more growing up in Mexico.
Hawko and Tayback had not ridden far when they left Vengeance Creek. It was never their intention to actually go up against Sheriff Dan Shaye’s gun. It was their job to check and see if he was there and what the situation was.
They had been in Scottsdale for two days after sending a telegram upon their arrival.
“How much longer are we gonna hafta wait?” Tayback complained.
“As long as it takes,” Hawko said. “Those were our instructions.”
“I never saw the instructions.”
“They came with the money.”
“As a matter of fact,” Tayback said, “I never saw the money.”
“Relax, Paul,” Sam Hawko said. “We’re gonna see plenty of money out of this. Plenty of it.”
They were sitting at a table in Miss Lottie’s Saloon. Not the biggest watering hole in town, but the one they’d been instructed to patronize during their stay.
“I need a steak,” Tayback said.
“That actually sounds good,” Hawko said. “The steak house across the street?”
“Do we ever eat anywhere else?”
Hawko stood up. “Hey, the food’s okay there.”
Tayback stood and the two men walked to the batwing doors and stepped out onto the boardwalk. Across the street was the small steak house they’d been taking their meals at. Down the street from the hotel they’d been told to stay in. And, if they wanted female companionship, they had even been told which whorehouse to go to.
The Scottsdale streets were busy, and the two men waited for several wagons to go by before crossing over to the restaurant. But they didn’t make it inside. After looking up and down the street, Hawko grabbed Tayback’s arm.
“He’s here!”
“Where?” Tayback looked around.
“Up the street,” Hawko said, “ridin’ in as bold as you please.”
“Why not?” Tayback asked, seeing the man now. “He’s not wanted anywhere. After all, he’s been released. He served his time.”
“We’ll wait here,” Hawko said. “Doucette’s gonna want a steak, too.”
EIGHTEEN
James made a cold camp, not knowing how close he might be to Dan Cannaday. He ate some beef jerky and washed it down with water from his canteen, then settled back to consider his options.
After leaving Flintlock, he had ridden south for the better part of a day before he thought he had picked up the trail again. Although he knew damned well he wasn’t the tracker his father, or even his brother, were, he felt certain he recognized the tracks left by Cannaday’s horse.
His options were simple because he only had one. There was no way he’d ever go back to Vengeance Creek and admit to his pa that he’d lost the trail. So he had no choice but to keep going, no matter how long it took. He only hoped his assumption was right and that Cannaday was heading south to meet up with the Flemings. That way he’d be able to join up with Thomas, and together they could take all three men in.
Meanwhile, he worried about what his pa might be going through back in town, especially if Cole Doucette showed up.
Only several miles ahead of James, Dan Cannaday made camp, building a small fire so he could make some coffee. He camped inside a circle of boulders so the fire couldn’t be seen from a distance. He knew someone might smell the coffee, but he took the chance, although he decided not to do the same with a can of beans. And this while he was sure nobody was following him.
If a posse had left Vengeance Creek, they were going to be after Red and Harry Fleming, not Candy. But there was no harm in being extra careful. He was less than a day’s hard ride from Mexico. When he got there, he’d have plenty of warm food—and women.
Thomas rode into Nogales, Arizona, his badge secure in his shirt pocket. Right across the border was Nogales in the Mexican municipality of Sonora. He was going to ride there eventually, so he didn’t want anyone on this side of the border to see his badge, in case he ran into them on the other side.
Nogales—both of them—being border towns, were very busy. There were other riders and wagons moving down the street alongside of him, so he was drawing no special attention—especially not with his badge hidden. He rode directly to the sheriff’s office and dismounted. After tying off his horse, he mounted the boardwalk and entered.
Three men were in the office, one wearing the sheriff’s badge, the other two with their backs to Thomas. The conversation going on was not a friendly one. He hadn’t heard the words, but the voices were raised until he walked in. Then they all stopped and looked at him.
“Am I interrupting somethin’?” Thomas asked.
“Who are you?” one of the men demanded. He was an older fellow, wearing trail clothes.
“Relax, Jason,” the sheriff said. “This is my office, remember?” The man with the badge looked at Thomas, who thought he had very tired eyes for a man in his thirties. “Can I help you?”
“I don’t wanna interrupt, Sheriff,” Thomas said. “I can come back.”
“No, that’s okay,” the sheriff said. “These men were just leavin’.”
“Sheriff, we ain’t done—” the other man said.
“We’re done for now, Mr. Gentry. I’ve got work to do.”
“Come on, Dave,” Jason said. “We’ll come back later. Maybe the sheriff will be more cooperative.”
The two men gave Thomas a look, walked to the door and left.
“That’s just somethin’ you have to deal with in this job,” the sheriff said.
Thomas took his badge out and showed it to the man.
“Deputy Sheriff, Vengeance Creek,” the sheriff read. “So, you know.”
“Oh, yes,” Thomas said. “My father’s been a lawman for thirty years. My brother and me, we’re his deputies now, and we know what you have to deal with in a town.”
“Wait a minute,” the lawman said. “Are you talkin’ about Dan Shaye?”
“That’s right,” Thomas said. “My dad. I’m Thomas Shaye.”
“Well, this is a great pleasure,” the sheriff said, extending his hand. “My name’s Frank Dewey. I’ve never met your dad, but I’ve heard of him, and I’d heard he took the job in Vengeance Creek with his sons, you and . . .”
“. . . my younger brother, James.”
“Right, right. Hey, have a seat. You want a cup of bad coffee?”
“Is there any other kind in a jailhouse?” Thomas asked. “Sure.”
Thomas sat while Dewey went to a pot-belly stove in the corner, poured two cups, handed one to Thomas and then sat behind his desk, holding the other.
“So what can I do for you, Deputy?”
“I’m passin’ through your town on my way to Nogales, in Sonora,” Thomas said. “I’m trackin’ the Fleming brothers, Red and Harry.”
“I’ve heard of Red Fleming,” Dewey said. “He’s deadly. I never heard of his brother.”
“Well, Harry thinks he’s Red,” Thomas sad. “He gunned down a man in Vengeance Creek and I tossed him in a cell. We were waitin’ for a judge, when his brother came to town, broke him out and killed another man.”
“So are you riding in advance of a posse?”
“No, I’m trackin’ them alone,” Thomas said. “My father sent my brother on another assignment, but he couldn’t leave the town unprotected.” He didn’t bother telling Sheriff Dewey about the possibility that Cole Doucette might come to Vengeance Creek with bad intentions on his mind.
“So you tracked them here?”
“I tracked them as far as I could before I lost the trail,” Thomas admitted. “But they were headed this way. I’m thinkin’ they’re headed for Mexico. They’re wanted in enough places that Mexico would be a good idea.”
“And are you plannin’ to follow them across the
border?” Dewey asked. “With your badge in your pocket?”
Thomas put the tin back in his pocket and said, “It ain’t gonna do me much good over there.”
“That’s for sure,” Dewey said. “You ain’t gonna have no jurisdiction there.”
“I know that,” Thomas said, “but one of the men who was killed was a friend of mine.”
“So it’s personal.”
“It’s both,” Thomas said. “Harry was my prisoner. It’s my duty to bring him back.”
“What can I do?”
“Well, I was gonna ask if you’d seen the Flemings in your town,” Thomas said, “but I’m guessin’ the answer’s no.”
“Sorry, Deputy,” Dewey said, “but I ain’t seen hide nor hair.”
“Do you mind if I ask around town a bit?” Thomas asked.
“I’ll only be here long enough to get somethin’ to eat and have a beer.”
“Ask away,” Dewey said, “and if there’s anythin’ I can do, let me know.”
“I will.” Thomas sipped the coffee, then set the cup down on the desk and stood up. “You were right. That coffee is awful.”
NINETEEN
In Nogales, Mexico, Red Fleming stuffed his face full of enchiladas, tacos and rice while his brother watched him, nursing a glass of tequila.
“I don’t know how you can eat,” Harry Fleming said.
“Relax,” Red said. “Ain’t we talked about this already? We’re in Mexico. Even if Shaye or his boys come after us, they got no . . . what’s it called . . . authority down here. We can kill them and nobody’s gonna care.”
“As long as they ain’t comin’ with a full posse.”
Red pointed at Harry with the taco in his hand.
“If they took the time to put together a posse, then they’re even farther behind us. You should have somethin’ to eat and keep up your strength.”
Harry eyed the food in the middle of the table, then put down his glass and piled some food on his plate.
“Attaboy, Harry,” Red said. “Eat up! Then we’ll find us some fine Mexican whores!”
Harry looked over at the bar, where two girls were watching them eat. One of them had served their food, showing them her bare shoulders while she did it. Maybe Red was right. Maybe he should relax.
Across the border, in Nogales, Arizona, Thomas indulged himself with a steak dinner and a hotel room, and put his horse up in the livery for some feed and a night’s rest. In the morning he’d cross the border into Sonora.
While he ate, he described the Fleming brothers to the waiter, asked if he’d seen two such men. The waiter shook his head and asked Thomas if he wanted more bread.
In the saloon across from the steak house, Thomas asked the bartender if he’d seen the Fleming brothers.
“Don’t know ’em,” the man said.
Thomas described them.
“Ain’t seen ’em. You want another beer?”
He talked to a couple of the saloon girls, asked the same questions.
“Don’t know why you’re lookin’ for two men, handsome,” one girl said to him. She was a blonde, in her twenties, and very pretty. “Why don’t we go upstairs for a while?”
“I would do that, honey, but I’m afraid you’d be too much of a distraction, and I’ve got things to do.”
“Well, come see me if you change your mind.” She sashayed away.
The other woman was about ten years older than the first, with black hair and a face that had been pretty once, but she’d been doing this job too long for it to stay that way. Now she was attractive, but brittle looking at the same time. Her body had become a little thick in the waist, and her breasts threatened to spill out of the top of her dress. She was less flirty after he asked his question.
“Why you lookin’ for them?” she asked. “Messin’ with that kind is just gonna get you killed.”
“So you’ve seen them?”
“Ain’t seen ’em,” she said, “but I heard of ’em. Well, Red Fleming, anyway. He’s a killer.”
“That he is,” Thomas said, “and that’s why I’m lookin’ for him. Why don’t you let me buy you a drink?”
“Upstairs?” she asked.
“Down here’s good enough.”
“Drinks are cheaper upstairs, honey,” she told him.
“That’s okay,” he said. “I’ll pay.”
“Suit yourself. Hey, Al!” she called the bartender. “Gimme a drink. The cowboy here’s payin’. And give him another beer.”
They took their drinks to a table, and had their pick since the saloon was only about half full. The blonde girl saw Thomas sitting with the woman and frowned.
“What’s your name?”
“Belle.”
“So, tell me about Red Fleming, Belle,” Thomas said.
“Oh, like I said,” she went on, “I don’t know him, I just know of him. I’d hate to see a sweet boy like you end up dead because you didn’t know what you were gettin’ into.”
“Believe me,” Thomas said, “I know.” He took his badge out of his pocket and showed it to her. “I’m trackin’ both brothers, and aim to bring ’em in for murder.”
“Well,” she said, sitting back, “a deputy. I’m impressed. Guess I had you figured for a cowboy.”
“You figured wrong,” Thomas said, putting the badge back in his pocket.
“Why ain’t you wearin’ it?”
“Because I’m goin’ into Mexico tomorrow,” he said. “That’s where I figure the Fleming boys are, unless you tell me I’m wrong.”
“There’s no way I can tell you that, Deputy,” she said. “But why don’t you spend the night with me? At least you’ll have that to think about when Red Fleming is killin’ you.”
“I think I’ll pass, thanks.” He finished his beer and stood up. “Thanks for the offer, though. And the advice.”
“I just wish I’d been able to help you,” she said.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I think you did.”
TWENTY
Thomas took up a position across the street from the saloon after dark, and waited. Something about what Belle had told him didn’t ring true. His father had told both him and James, long ago, to trust their instincts. If something didn’t sound true, it probably wasn’t.
So he decided to see if Belle went someplace in town that he might find interesting. Maybe the Flemings were there, and she was covering for them. Maybe everybody—including the sheriff—was covering for them because it was Nogales.
He’d wait and see.
It was more than an hour before Belle finally came out the batwing doors. The saloon was busier than it was when he’d been inside. And there she was, still wearing her dress, but covering her shoulders and breasts with a shawl. She came out the doors, turned right and started walking at a brisk pace.
Remaining on his side of the street, he followed.
At this time of night, in a cafe that busy, a saloon girl should have been at work. The fact that she was outside and rushing like that had to mean something. He just hoped she wasn’t checking on a sick friend or mother.
Keeping her in sight wasn’t hard. His eyes were used to the shadows, and the streets of Nogales were empty this time of night. It didn’t take long to find out she wasn’t going to see her mother. After three blocks, she turned right and went down a dark side street. Thomas hurriedly crossed and followed her.
On the main street there was occasional light from the odd street lamp or coming from a window, but on this street there didn’t seem to be any. However, Belle knew exactly where she was going and moved at a fast, surefooted pace.
Thomas, trying to keep up and not lose sight of her, barely avoided a couple of bad spills as he skirted the odd barrel or box that blocked the boardwalk for some reason.
Finally she left the street and cut down between buildings. He stopped at the mouth of the alley to watch and listen. It was pitch dark down there and he couldn’t see her at all. Suddenly he heard a knocking, and
then a door opened, bathing both Belle and the alley in bright light. Whoever had opened the door for her stepped back and she entered. The door closed behind her, once again leaving the alley in darkness.
Thomas entered and moved slowly toward where he thought the door was. As he crept along in the darkness, he noticed there were windows, but they were blocked from inside so that no light came out.
He felt along the wall and found the door as his eyes finally adjusted to the pitch black. Looking down, he saw no light from beneath it. Either the room just inside was dark, or someone had blocked the crack beneath the door, as they had blocked the windows.
He listened at the door, didn’t hear anything. Next he tried the door knob, but the door was locked. He figured there was only one way he was going to get inside.
He knocked.
Inside, two men were listening to Belle tell them about Thomas,
“the deputy.”
“He wanted to know about Red,” she said.
“What did you tell him?” Adam Grey asked.
“Nothin’,” she said. “I told him I didn’t know Red Fleming, only heard of him.”
“Did he believe you?” Johnny Widmark asked.
“Sure he did.”
Widmark looked up from his seated position near the older Grey, who was standing.
“Sure he did,” he said. “He musta.”
“We’ll have to get word across the border to Red,” Grey said. “He’ll wanna know.”
“He already knows,” Widmark said. “He told us, remember?”
“He said somebody might come after him, he didn’t know who,” Grey said. “Probably a badge. We’ll have to tell him who it is.”
“We don’t know who it is,” Widmark said. “Just a deputy.”
“We’ll find out,” Widmark said.
“How?” Belle asked.
“We’ll ask the right person.”
“And who’s that?” Widmark asked.
“Who do ya think?”
“The sheriff?”
“Got it the first time,” Grey said. “Is he in the other room?”
“Yeah,” Widmark said. “He’s bettin’ on the fights.”
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