“Lead the way,” James said.
“Excelente,” Montoya said. “This way, please.”
They left the office and Montoya took the lead. James followed, pulling his horse by the reins.
When James saw that they were approaching what appeared to be the undertaker’s, his heart almost stopped.
“Why here?” he asked, when they stopped in front.
“You will see.”
James tied his horse off and they went inside.
A short, portly man who looked more like the clerk in a general store than an undertaker turned and looked at them.
“El jefe,” he said, staring at James curiously.
“Deputy James Shaye,” Montoya said, “this is Ignacio Benedicto de la Vega, our undertaker.”
“Señor,” de la Vega said, cautiously.
“And in the absence of a proper doctor, he does his best,” Montoya said.
Montoya then spoke to the undertaker in rapid Spanish that James could not follow.
Then he said to James, “Please, follow us.”
The two men led James through a curtained doorway, down a hall, past two rooms that held coffins in various stages of construction, to a back room he could only assume was for coffins already completed, and possibly holding a body.
He licked his lips as they opened the door.
Instead of a coffin he saw a bed, with a man on it, bandaged around his midriff.
“Hello, little brother,” Thomas said.
“You’re supposed to be dead,” James said.
With a wry grin Thomas said, “Sorry to disappoint you.”
The sheriff and undertaker left the two brothers alone. Thomas sat on the bed, while James sat on the straight-backed wooden chair in the room, and they caught up.
“They came at me in the street,” Thomas explained. “It was my own fault, though. I knew at least one of them was watchin’ me. I was careless. Pa’s gonna kill me.”
“He’ll be glad to get the chance,” James pointed out.
“They started firin’ from opposite sides of the street, gettin’ me in a crossfire while I was in the middle of the street, crossin’ over. I got hit in the first volley, and then it got confusin’.”
He shifted, getting more comfortable on the bed.
“People started running this way and that. I fired back, but soon lost sight of them, and then suddenly the sheriff was there—and I went out.
“I gotta give Montoya credit. He thought fast, convinced everybody I was dead, then had some men carry me here to the undertaker’s. They’re old friends, and Ignacio was willin’ to help. Montoya had him patch me up, stop the bleedin’, and then they left me back here to rest.”
“And the Flemings?”
“They left town, thinkin’ they’d got the job done.”
“But how are you?” James asked.
“The bullet took out a big chunk of skin,” Thomas explained, “but kept goin’. Ignacio stopped the bleeding and then wrapped me up tight. So nobody knows I’m alive but the sheriff, the undertaker, and now you.”
“What was your plan?”
“I figured to rest up a couple of days, and then start trackin’ them again.”
“Alone?”
“Well,” Thomas said, “I did figure you’d be along, eventually. I thought Candy had to be plannin’ to join up with them, and he’d lead you right here. What happened to him?”
“He’s dead.”
“How?”
“He tried to kill me in my room in Tubac, but I heard him comin’.”
“Tubac. So you met Irma.”
“I did, and her bartender. She gave me some food, and a room—”
“And offered to warm your bed for a price.”
“She did. I turned her down.”
“Hey,” Thomas said, “I turned her down, too. This has been all business, James.”
“Well,” James said, “after I got to my room, he tied and gagged Irma and the bartender and left them in the kitchen. Then he came for me.”
“Are they okay?”
“They’re fine,” James said. “After I killed Candy, I untied them. Irma wants us to come back that way.”
“She would. She’s a good cook, though.”
“Oh, and Belle wants us to come back, too.”
“You met Belle?”
“She’s the one who told me you’re still alive. She heard it from someone over here.
“Why’d she do that?”
“She’s hopin’ we’ll come back and get rid of Adam Grey.”
“Grey, the gambler,” Thomas said. “You met him, too.”
“Sheriff Dewey warned me about him,” James said, “and he said I could trust Montoya about as much as I trusted him.”
“Which you’d think ain’t much, but Montoya really came through for me. Guess when it came right down to it, the badge was more important.”
“Same with Dewey,” James said. “He’d also like Grey gone.”
“Because he owes him money.”
“And so does Belle,” James said, “so maybe they’re only lookin’ out for their own interests, but it’s managed to help us.”
Thomas put his hand on his brother’s shoulder and said, “It sure did. When you heard I was dead, you didn’t happen to send a telegram to Pa, did you?”
“No,” James said, “I knew you weren’t dead.”
“How’d you know that?”
“You’re just too ornery to let the Fleming brothers kill you.”
“Well,” Thomas said, “now we’re gonna go after them together. Brothers against brothers.”
“But you ain’t fit to ride.”
“As long as I’m wrapped up tight I can ride,” Thomas said. “We can’t let them get too far ahead of us.”
“Which way did they go?” James asked.
“South, farther into Mexico. It could be they’re still aimin’ to meet up with other gang members.”
“It sure would be good if we could catch up to them long before that,” James pointed out.
“I agree with you there, little brother,” Thomas said. “You got a room yet?”
“No,” James said, “I wanted to check on you first.”
“Why don’t you check into a hotel, get some food, and then maybe bring me back somethin’,” Thomas said. “I’m starvin’.”
“Haven’t they been feedin’ you?”
“I’ve only been here since yesterday,” Thomas said. “We haven’t gotten the kinks worked out yet, like which one of them is gonna bring me food.”
“So now it’s my job,” James said.
Thomas laughed. “You got that right, little brother.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
Dan Shaye released his three prisoners the next morning, and they immediately mounted up and rode out of town. If they were, indeed, in league with Cole Doucette, they’d be passing the word on to him that Tate Kingdom was in town, and backing the sheriff’s play. If not . . . no harm, no foul.
Kingdom spent the next two days relaxing in the saloon, playing poker, pausing only to go out and have meals, then returning to his seat at the table, which was held for him. It was not a big money game, not quite penny ante. It was just meant to pass the time.
Shaye spent his time continuing to worry about his sons and conduct twice as many rounds around town as he needed to, also to pass the time. The mayor’d had no further word on the location of Cole Doucette, so they were still adopting a wait-and-see attitude.
Finally, three days after he released the three prisoners, nine men rode into town, and at the head of the column was one Cole Doucette . . .
Shaye had been sitting outside in front of his office when they rode in. He watched as they passed him on the way to the livery. Doucette never looked at him once.
He knew it was Doucette because Mayor Snow came running into his office minutes later, in a panic, shouting, “He’s here! Cole Doucette is here!”
“I saw him,” Shaye said calmly. “W
ell, whataya gonna do about it, Sheriff?” the Mayor demanded. “I’m not gonna do anythin’ rash, Mayor, without considerin’ my options.”
“Your options?” Snow exploded. “Arrest him!”
“And the seven men with him?” Shaye asked. “For what?”
“For . . . for . . . for . . . Seven? I heard he had five.”
“Somebody miscounted,” Shaye said. “Eight men rode in with him.”
“Eight.” Snow covered his face with his hands. “They could burn down the whole town.”
“But Doucette is here for you, Mayor,” Shaye said, “not the town. Why don’t you just give yourself up?”
Snow dropped his hands and gaped at Shaye. “He’ll kill me!”
“But the town would be safe,” Shaye said. “Isn’t that your first priority?”
Mayor Snow pointed a thick index finger at Shaye.
“Don’t get smart, Dan!” he shouted. “It’s your responsibility to protect me and the town. I expect you to do your job.”
“Well then, Mayor,” Shaye said, “get out of my office and let me do it.”
“And it better be soon!” Snow finished, his voice cracking.
He walked to the door, opened it about a foot, peered out, and then carefully stepped through it.
Shaye waited a few minutes, then stepped out himself and sat back down. He wanted to watch and see where Doucette and his men went next.
Cole Doucette and his men dismounted at the livery stable.
“Did you see the lawman, Cole?” Sam Hawko asked.
“I saw him.”
“That was Dan Shaye.”
“The man who ran you and Tayback out of town.”
“He didn’t run us!” Tayback complained.
“What would you call it?” Doucette asked.
“Well, I’d say—”
“Never mind,” Doucette said. “Just get these horses taken care of. I’m goin’ to a hotel.”
“What about the rest of us?” Paul Tayback asked.
“Find places of your own,” Doucette said, “but stay where I can find you. That means no cathouse, you understand? All of you?”
The other seven men nodded their understanding.
“And when you go to the saloon, remember, one beer each. Hawko, you see to it.”
“I will, boss.”
“Nils,” Doucette said, “you’re with me.”
Nils the Swede nodded and followed Doucette out of the livery. He was a very big, blond man, like most Swedes.
Doucette and Nils walked to the center of town, to the hotel they had passed on the way in. Along the way they also had to pass the sheriff’s office again. Doucette saw Shaye sitting in front, but made as if he didn’t.
“We goin’ to the hotel, boss?”
“That’s right, Nils.”
“Why can’t we get a drink first?”
“No drinks for you, Nils,” Doucette said. “Not till we do what we came to do.”
“Why not?”
“Because you get crazy when you drink,” Doucette said. “I’ll let you know when I want you to get crazy. Understand?”
“Yes, boss,” Nils said. “I understand.”
“I’m gonna get you a room next to mine, so you’ll be close at hand. If you hear anythin’, you come a runnin’.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Let’s go.”
Doucette and Nils went inside the hotel.
Shaye watched as Doucette and a big, blond man walked back down the street from the livery. He’d expected them to go to the saloon first, but maybe that’s what the other men would do.
He thought about waiting for them in the saloon, then considered going to the hotel to talk to Doucette when he didn’t have all the other men around him.
Then he got another idea.
“You want me to what?” Mayor Snow demanded.
“Talk to Doucette.”
“You’re crazy.”
They were in Snow’s office, where Shaye had found the man sitting behind his desk, wringing his hands.
“I’ll go with you,” Shaye said. “He’s at the hotel, gettin’ a room. We’ll have to move fast, while he doesn’t have his men around him.”
“I still say you’re—oh, wait. While I’m talkin’ to him you’re gonna kill him, right?”
“No, I’m not,” Shaye said. “I’m gonna try to reason with him.”
“And if you can’t? Then will you kill him?”
“I’ll warn him.”
“So when will you kill him?” Snow asked.
“When he tries to kill me, I suppose.”
“Well, that’ll happen,” Snow said. “You’ll see.”
“Come on, Snow,” Shaye said. “Let’s go and talk to the man. Maybe he ain’t here for you at all.”
Snow stood up, but said, “This is a mistake.”
“Maybe,” Shaye said. “Let’s find out just how big a mistake it might be.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
Shaye found out from the desk clerk which room Cole Doucette had been put in.
As he and Mayor Snow walked down the hall Snow said, “I still think you should just shoot him when he opens the door.”
“Not gonna do that, Mayor,” Shaye said. Very quickly he reached into the mayor’s jacket and pulled out a small .32. “And neither are you.”
“Hey!”
“Just relax,” Shaye said, “and let me do the talkin’.” He tucked Snow’s .32 into his belt, then knocked on Doucette’s door.
The door was opened immediately, and Cole Doucette stood there with his gun in his hand. He was over six feet tall, thick from the years he’d spent in prison. He was probably younger than he looked, which was about fifty. Men aged in prison.
“Sheriff Shaye, ain’t it?” he asked.
“That’s right.”
“And Mayor Snow,” Doucette said. “Nice to see you again, Mayor. Only you weren’t a mayor when I saw you last. Just a district attorney, puttin’ me away.”
“For somethin’ you did,” the mayor said.
“For protectin’ myself,” Doucette ordered.
“You wanna put up that gun?” Shaye asked. “We came here to talk.”
“That right?” Doucette holstered his gun. “Then by all means, come on in. Let’s talk.”
He backed up and allowed them to enter. The mayor came in last and left the door open. Shaye figured he wanted a quick way out if things went wrong.
“What brings you here, Sheriff?” Doucette asked.
“That’s what I want to ask you, Mr. Doucette,” Shaye said. “What brings you to Vengeance Creek?”
“Mr. Doucette?’ ” he asked. “You know how long it’s been since I was called that?”
“You did your time,” Shaye said. “You deserve the respect.”
“That right, Mr. Mayor?” Doucette asked. “You think I deserve respect?”
“I guess that depends,” Snow said.
“On what I want, right?”
“That’s right.”
Doucette walked to the bed and sat down.
“Vengeance Creek,” Doucette said. “This town’s got a fittin’ name. When I got out of prison, all I wanted was vengeance.”
“And now?” Shaye asked.
“Now I’m not sure,” Doucette said.
“Then why’d you come?” Snow asked.
“I was on my way here,” the man said, with a shrug. “I thought, why not finish the trip?”
“With seven men?” Shaye asked.
“I’m used to ridin’ with men to watch my back,” Doucette said.
“So . . . you’re not here to kill me?” Snow asked.
“Kill you?” Doucette asked. He pretended to think about it. “I admit while I was in prison I thought about killin’ you. Dreamed about it, even. But once I got out, and headed here . . . I realized somethin’.”
“What’s that?” Shaye asked.
“I don’t wanna go back to prison,” Doucette said, “and killin’ you, Mr. M
ayor, would send me right back there.” He nodded at Shaye. “The sheriff here would see to that.”
Snow looked at Shaye, then back at Doucette.
“I hope I can believe you, Dou—Mr. Doucette,” the mayor said.
“You don’t have to believe me, Mr. Mayor,” Doucette said. “Just wait and see.” He smiled.
The mayor, still nervous, said, “Okay, Dan, I guess we got what we wanted.”
“I guess so, Mayor.” Shaye looked at Doucette. “Thanks for talkin’ to us, Mr. Doucette.”
“My pleasure, gents, my pleasure,” Doucette said. “Say, where’s the best place in town to get a steak?”
Outside the hotel the mayor said, “I need a drink. You want a drink, Dan?”
“Sure, why not?”
They crossed over to the Renegade Saloon and went inside. The mayor had a regular table that was always left open for him, so they went to it. One of the pretty young saloon girls took their order and brought them each a beer.
“Thanks, Gina,” Snow said.
“Sure, Mr. Mayor, honey.”
They each sipped, and then Snow sat back, looking visibly relieved.
“What did you think?” he asked.
“Of what?” Shaye asked.
“Of what Doucette said, of course,” Mayor Snow said.
“Oh,” Shaye said, “he’s here to kill you, all right.”
Mayor Snow put his mug down with a bang. “What?”
“I didn’t believe a word he said, Mayor,” Shaye said. “He’s here to kill you. It’s just a matter of when he’ll try.”
“Well . . . Jesus!” The mayor picked up his beer and drank it straight down.
THIRTY-NINE
Dan Shaye was dead sure Cole Doucette and his men were in Vengeance Creek to cause havoc. What he was also dead sure of was that it would not be at a time of their choosing.
Since Doucette was choosing to play it as if he had decided not to kill Mayor Snow, Shaye knew he had some time to whittle down Doucette’s force of eight men. But he’d need help.
He still didn’t know if Doucette was aware that Tate Kingdom was in town, or that Kingdom had helped Shaye. But Kingdom was the only person in town Shaye knew he could go to. There might have been some citizens who were willing to pick up a gun, but he doubted it.
He also knew Kingdom spent his time at the poker table in the Renegade Saloon, so after Mayor Snow went home to hide in his bedroom, Shaye went to the saloon. It was afternoon, the place was not doing its usual evening business, so it was quiet enough for him to hear the sound of poker chips as they clattered into the pot.
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