Again, he looked as many men in the eye as he could. “Whether or not you decide to ride out with us tomorrow is on your own conscience. I won’t ask again, and I’ll be goddamned if I beg any of you to go. We’ll be riding out after the burial services tomorrow. The rest is on your conscience.”
Mackey and the rest of his party walked out onto the boardwalk, leaving his words to sit with the men of the Tin Horn.
Whether or not any of them would take root was beyond Mackey’s knowing or caring.
He knew what he had to do. That was enough for him.
* * *
When they all got back to the jailhouse, Billy was the first to speak up. “I’m going with you.”
“So am I,” Pappy added.
“No you’re not. Neither of you.” Mackey tossed his hat on the desk and sat down. “I need both of you here to keep an eye on the town while I’m gone. Underhill and Sim are all I need, plus whatever volunteers we get between now and tomorrow morning.”
Billy clearly didn’t like it, but he held his tongue. He’d talk to Mackey about it later.
Pappy, on the other hand, didn’t hold his tongue. “Jesus, Aaron. You need us . . .”
Mackey slammed his hand down on the desk. “Goddamn it, for once in your life don’t argue with me. Yes, I need you, but I need you here.”
“Like hell you do.”
“When word gets out about what Darabont did here,” the sheriff said, “there’s liable to be some bastards who think this town has become an easy mark again. We still need people who are going to keep that from happening, and those people are you and Billy. I let this town down once because of my own foolishness. I won’t let it happen again.”
“Your own foolishness?” Pappy repeated. “You mean about going to the dance last night? Christ, Aaron, that wasn’t your fault.”
Mackey pounded his desk again. “Enough!”
The sound was enough to finally quiet his father.
Mackey ignored the growing ache in his hand and looked up at Underhill. “You’ll be ready to ride after the service tomorrow?”
“Hell, give me half an hour and I’ll be ready to ride today.” Underhill looked back at the empty jail cells. “I know you’ll want to get some rest now, but we’ll need to talk about the Boudreauxs between now and then.”
“They’ll be coming with us. Not as your prisoners, but as members of the search party.”
Underhill stood a little straighter and thumbed his hat a bit farther back on his head. “I don’t like that, sheriff.”
“I don’t give a damn, marshal. Those boys are fine trackers, almost as good as Sim and Billy here. Since Billy isn’t coming, I want them with us. Besides, if the shooting starts, you’ll be damned glad to have them.” He looked at his father and the marshal. “Now, kindly get the hell out of here. I’ve got plenty to do before tomorrow and I can’t do it with a room full of people gawking at me.”
Pappy stormed out of the jail, and Underhill went off to see to his horse. Sim went wherever Sim went when he wasn’t there. He didn’t need to be reminded to be ready to ride. Sim was always ready for anything.
Billy was the only one who hung back, sitting quietly at his own desk near the stove. Mackey hadn’t meant for him to clear out, and Billy knew it. After a time, he said: “You need me with you on the trail, Aaron.”
“I need you here more. If things get hot while I’m gone, Pappy’s liable to start running the town like a fort. He’s a good man. Capable, too, but he needs minding and you’re the only man I know he’ll listen to.”
Billy got up and poured himself the remains of the previous night’s coffee. “I’ve never disobeyed you, Aaron, even when I’ve disagreed with you. I’ve got no intention of starting now. I just need to know you’re going after Darabont for the right reasons.”
Mackey looked at him. “Meaning?”
“Meaning I know how your mind works, and I know how things can get fixed in your head, sometimes the wrong way.”
Mackey felt himself beginning to get annoyed, even at Billy. “Meaning?”
“Meaning you can’t blame yourself for Darabont burning down Hill House last night. I was outside the dance hall and didn’t know anything happened until I smelled the smoke and saw the flames.”
Mackey felt his own breath catch as he remembered the smell. “And if I’d been there?”
“You’d have been splayed out with a note pinned to your chest instead of Old Wilkes, and Katherine would still be with Darabont. You’re not angry because of the dance. You’re angry because you know I’m right.”
Mackey watched his right hand ball into a fist on his desk. “I’m angry because Darabont looked me in the eye in front of my own house and still thought he could do this to me. To my town. To my people.” His hand reddened and began to tremble. He forced it open and laid it flat on the desk. It hurt enough already. “I can’t let that stand, Billy. And I can’t let them get away with what they did to Katherine.”
Billy drank his cold coffee. “If it’s really you they’re after, ever think they might’ve done this to draw you out of town so they can nail you on the open road?”
“That’s why I’m leaving you here,” Mackey admitted. “They get me, they’ve still got to go through you.”
Billy set his coffee cup down on his desk. “I’d prefer to face him together. Like we’ve been doing all these years.”
“I should’ve killed the son of a bitch the first night I saw him.”
“You couldn’t do that,” Billy said. “You know that. And so did he.”
Mackey did, indeed, know that. He looked at the long shadows thrown by the barred windows across his desk by the late morning sun. “Yeah, well, in a few days, it won’t matter either way. Because either you or me is going to kill that son of a bitch, Billy. That’s all that matters now.”
Chapter 17
“My darling!” Mary said as she rushed to him as soon as he walked into their home. She was always fussy about cleanliness, especially about his boots tracking in mud from Front Street. He was surprised she ignored the grime of his clothes and embraced him; holding him as tightly as she had at the dance. He realized that dance had only been a few hours before, but it already felt like a lifetime ago.
“Did anyone tell you how magnificent you were last night?” she asked. “How incredible you were? While everyone else was running around wondering what to do, you set things in order and did the best you could. You were simply magnificent, my love.”
He wasn’t in the mood for compliments. He placed his hat on the newel post of the stairs. “I’m not feeling particularly magnificent right now.”
“I know.” She ran her fingertips along the back of his filthy blue tunic. “But you were, Aaron. You were. You took charge and did the best you could. That’s all you could do. That’s the man I love.”
He eased himself away from her. “That’s the man I’ve always been. Every day since the day we met.” He began to unbutton his uniform. “I just wasn’t wearing this damned thing at the time.”
She turned away from him. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Nothing.” He had neither the strength nor the inclination to argue. Not now. Not with her and certainly not about this. “All it means is that I’m tired, Mary. Tired all of the way down to my bones, and all I want to do is climb into bed and sleep for a while.” He reached out to her and put a hand on her back. “I’d love it if you’d lie down with me for a while.”
She didn’t come back to him as he had hoped, but she didn’t pull away like she normally did. She took his hat from the newel post and brushed at it with her hand. “Word is you’ll be riding out after those whores tomorrow.”
He closed his eyes. Her gossip network astounded him. He had made the announcement in the Tin Horn less than half an hour before. The only women in the bar at the time had been whores, yet Mary already knew what he had said. “I’m not riding out after the whores, Mary. I’m riding out after the men who atta
cked our town. Our way of life.” He was careful not to mention that Katherine had been kidnapped, as he knew that would be the focus of her rage.
“No one attacked us,” she said, “nor the town proper, neither. They burned down a whorehouse way out at the edge of town and burned a couple of whores and the men who worked for them. You act like they burned city hall or a church.”
“The edge of town is still in town limits,” he said. “And those women lived here. One of them gave birth here and that infant will be buried here. Old Wilkes was up there, too. Maybe you don’t think the women are worth much, but I know you cared about Wilkes.”
“Wilkes was only up there because of her and it’s her you’re really going after, isn’t it?” she said. “Your bloody Katherine.”
“Mrs. Campbell happened to be up at Hill House helping one of the girls give birth. The baby we’re burying tomorrow was most likely hers. It looks like Darabont’s bunch took Mrs. Campbell and maybe some of the other women with them.”
“Which is why you’re going after them, isn’t it?” Her eyes reddened but no tears came. Mary always came close to tears, but never actually cried. “To bring her back here.”
“I’d ride after Darabont even if they’d left everyone in the house dead because that’s what I’m supposed to do. Men like this can’t be allowed to run around loose, Mary. They can’t keep . . .”
“The people of this town pay you to protect the town,” she said. “They don’t pay you to go riding off to bring back a bunch of goddamned filth no one cares about anyway.”
“Filth or not, they’re our people. If I let this go, who’ll bring them back? And who’s to say the next group like Darabont’s crowd won’t do something worse the next time? Underhill said he’d heard about Darabont’s bunch as far south as Texas. They might’ve been doing this kind of thing dozens of times in dozens of places throughout the years. They’ve gotten away with this for too long and now it’s time for someone to stop them.”
“And if they’ve done this as long as you and Underhill say, then why do you need to be the one to stop them?”
“Because that’s who I am. That’s the man you married.”
She laid his hat back on the post and wiped her hands on her apron. “Well, it’s not who I am. And I’m not sure I’ll be here when you get back.”
Mackey didn’t know what to say to that. He wasn’t sure he was supposed to say anything at all. He simply went upstairs and closed his bedroom door behind him. He heard Mary’s sobbing from the parlor as he got undressed.
Chapter 18
Beneath a slate gray sky the next morning, Doc Ridley stood beside the six fresh graves, clutching his worn Bible against his chest as his black frock coat billowed in the wind. He finished his final blessing over the remains of the dead before he croaked his way through the hymn “Rock of Ages.” The few townspeople who had attended the ceremony did their best to lend their voices to the feeble effort.
Mackey did not. Neither did Billy or Underhill.
Mackey knew more people should have come to pay their respects. He resented the veterans who had insisted on burying Old Wilkes the following day on their own. None of the men who had worked so long to clear the pile had bothered to come to a graveside ceremony for the whores or the infant or the Swede. Even Pappy had decided to sleep in that morning.
Doc Ridley had turned down the honor of presiding over the funerals at first, but the look in Mackey’s eyes had changed his mind.
Mr. Rice’s attendance was a pleasant surprise. He had manned the pump after the fire and had drunk with the men in the Tin Horn afterward. He’d also vowed to cover the town’s costs for outfitting a posse to bring Darabont to justice. Now, he had come to the graveside ceremony of the town’s least fortunate. Mackey began to wonder if there was more to this man than just a railroad and expensive clothes.
While Doc Ridley and the others sang their hymn, Mackey glanced over at the portion of the cemetery some called Mackey’s Garden. There were no fresh graves in that part of the graveyard. He had ordered the five men Darabont had staged on the hill to stay where they had been placed. He had no intention of burying them in town limits. The birds and worms would get to them soon enough and they were far enough out of town to keep the stench to a minimum.
When the final prayers had been said and the gravediggers began to fill in the graves, Billy and Underhill trailed Mackey as they rode back to town from Boot Hill.
“Any idea on how many men we got?” Mackey asked Underhill.
“Boudreaux brothers make two. You and me make four. Five if you count the quiet fella Sim Halstead.”
Mackey hadn’t expected dozens, but he’d been hoping for more than that. “That’s all we’ve got?”
“Two old drunks from the Pony House offered to sign up for drinking money,” Underhill said, “but I decided to decline their gracious offer. A couple more of your father’s friends offered, too, but the trail’s no place for a bunch of fat old men with creaky bones.”
Mackey held down another coughing fit. Such bouts were slower in coming and happening less frequently. “We might regret that decision before all this is over.”
From behind them, Billy said: “Riders coming, Aaron. Looks like Jeb Taylor and three men.”
Mackey looked down the road and saw the rancher leading three riders he had never seen before. He watched them ride over to the jailhouse, where they hitched their mounts to the post.
When Mackey and the others reached the jail, Taylor said, “I heard you’re looking for men to ride out with you after those bastards who burned down Hill House and took those women.”
“Looking for good men,” Mackey said, “and willing.”
“Well, that’s just what I brought you.” Taylor thumbed back at the three men with him. Mackey could tell two of them were Mexican and looked to be in their mid-twenties. The other one was a stout, red haired German man with a thick beard. He wasn’t as big as Taylor, but plenty big in his own right.
“This here is Javier and Solomon,” Taylor explained. “They’re brothers, see? A couple of vaqueros who’ve been riding with me for more than a year now. Capable as hell and seem to know about this man you’re pursuing.”
Mackey had picked up a fair amount of Spanish when he had been stationed in Apache country, so he spoke to them in Spanish now. “What do you know about Darabont and his men?”
The older of the two men spoke first. “We aren’t brothers, sir. We’re cousins. Taylor thinks all Mexicans are related. He is an ignorant bastard.”
Mackey liked him already. “I know he is, but I didn’t ask you about him. I asked you about Darabont.”
The younger of the two men said, “Darabont raided our family’s ranch outside of Juarez while we were bringing our cattle to market. When we got back home, we found our ranch burned and all of our family dead. The women . . .” His voice faltered and he looked away.
Mackey didn’t need to hear the rest. In English, he said to Taylor, “And who’s the little man you’ve brought with you?”
“Calls himself Mattias Brahm of Bavaria,” Taylor said. “Seems life on a ranch don’t suit him much and he’s itching to take part in something like this. His English ain’t great, but he’s strong as hell and can fight as good as he cooks, which is saying something because he sets a damned fine table.”
“Beef stew is my specialty,” said the German.
“Not likely to have the fixings for beef stew out on the trail, Mr. Brahm,” Underhill said.
Brahm patted the large knife sheathed on his ample belly. “All I need is meat. I cut what I need.”
Mackey might not have liked Taylor, but he’d never doubted his judgment in the quality of the men he hired to work for him. If he said these men were good, they were. “We’re glad to have all of you with us. Marshall Underhill will be my second in command out on the trail. He’ll take you over to the general store and see to it that you’re outfitted properly. We’ll head out in an hour.”
Mackey shook the rancher’s hand. “We’ll bring your men back to you as soon as we can, Jeb.”
“With Darabont’s head in a sack, I hope.” To Billy, Taylor said, “You need anything while he’s gone, you know where to find me.”
Billy said that he did.
Taylor unhitched his mount and swung up into the saddle. To his men, he said, “You boys are Taylor men from the JT Ranch. I expect you to act accordingly and make us proud.” To the cousins, he said in Spanish, “And I’m not ignorant. Just a bastard.”
Taylor spurred his horse and headed back on the road toward his ranch at a gallop.
With Taylor’s three men, Mackey knew his force had just doubled in size. He figured Darabont’s group still outnumbered him, but he’d rather be riding after them with eight men than with five.
The time had come to get things started. “Underhill, take these men over to my old man’s store. See to it that they’re outfitted with everything they need.”
But Underhill was in no hurry. “Now just wait a goddamned minute, Aaron. I’m not your . . .”
The crack of a single shot echoed from the hillside.
Mackey looked up in time to see Taylor slump over his saddle horn. A second shot rang out and knocked him off his mount. His horse ran on back home as Taylor’s body lay flat in the tall grass along the trail.
Where the Bullets Fly Page 13
