“I’d say that about does it,” Jarrett said after tossing some bags of grain over Twitch’s back.
“Not yet,” Lem said. “We got one more stop to make.”
“Where might that be?”
Lem looked down the street and nodded toward the corner. The only things there were a dentist’s office, a bookstore, and a little shop with a sign that bore a picture of a disassembled pistol on it.
“Looking for something to read while we’re on the trail?” Jarrett asked.
“Not quite.”
“Since it doesn’t seem like you’ve got a toothache, that’d mean you want to purchase a gun?”
“Could come in useful,” Lem said.
“Don’t know how much credit I can get at that place.”
Lem started walking. “Let’s find out.”
This time, Lem was first to step inside. Jarrett was right behind him. He recognized the man who stood behind a glass-topped display case, but just barely. “Hello. I’m Jarrett Pekoe. I own the Lazy J.”
The man behind the case was somewhere in his sixties with a scraggly mop of thinning gray hair sprouting from his head and a beard to match. His hands were thick with dark calluses that pegged him as a blacksmith. “Heard about the fire,” he said. “Damn shame.”
“Sure was. We’re headed out on a posse and—”
Having already stepped up to the display case, Lem tapped his finger on the glass and said, “That one, that one, and . . . that one.”
The old man raised his eyebrows and reached inside the case. “Not a bad eye for weaponry,” he said. “Although I can make a suggestion if you’d prefer a better overall pistol.”
As soon as the old man placed the first gun on top of the counter, Lem picked it up and began taking it apart. Jarrett knew how to clean his weapons and put them back together again, but he’d never seen someone do the job so quickly. It was almost as if Lem were simply moving his hands over the gun as it fell apart on its own accord.
The old man seemed to be equally impressed. “Know your way around a Smith and Wesson, I see,” he mused.
Lem was too busy examining each piece of the gun to respond. After picking up the individual parts, he set most to one side and a few to the other. From there, he moved on to the next pistol the old man brought out from the case. The same process was repeated and both piles of parts grew larger. When he was done with that one, he asked, “What about the third?”
“I don’t normally like anyone handling the merchandise unless they put down some sort of deposit.” When the old man saw Jarrett approach the case, he raised a hand to hold him back. “But in this case,” the merchant said, “I’ll make an exception.” He retrieved the third pistol Lem had pointed out and set it on top of the case. “Always a pleasure to see a man in his element.”
So far, Lem had yet to take his eyes from the hardware in front of him. His gaze remained steady as his hands moved with equal parts speed and precision. Once that third gun was fully disassembled, Lem focused his attention on the smaller of the two piles he’d made. His pace slowed a bit, but his eyes became even more intense as he carefully examined every piece.
Jarrett could do nothing but watch. Even with his limited knowledge of weaponry, Lem’s display was impressive. The old man, on the other hand, was enthralled.
Piece by piece, Lem put together a pistol from the parts he’d taken from the other three. They’d all been .44 caliber Smith & Wessons that looked similar enough to Jarrett. Since they’d been taken apart so quickly, he couldn’t tell much more than that. Lem hefted the weight of the pistol that he’d put together and started examining it even more closely.
First, Lem held it sideways and then he turned his wrist so he could sight along the top of its barrel. He opened his hand, allowed the pistol to dangle by its trigger guard from one finger, and twirled it with a barely visible flick of that wrist. He lowered the pistol, snapped it up again, and thumbed the hammer back. The action was so smooth that the metallic click could barely be heard.
“Damn fine work,” the old man said. “May I?”
Lem handed over the pistol so the old man could examine it. In less than half the time that Lem had taken, the old man went through a few motions of his own and smiled. “Balance is better,” he said. “How’d you manage that?”
“Balance is nothing but redistributing weight,” Lem replied.
That sounded like a sarcastic response to Jarrett, but the old man didn’t seem offended in the slightest.
“The cylinder feels smoother,” he said while rolling it against his palm.
Lem nodded. “Made for one model but fits better in another. Couldn’t tell you why.”
“I’ll remember that.” The old man handed back the pistol. “You going to buy that or do you plan on putting them all back together?”
“I’ll take it.”
“Naturally you’ll have to pay something for them other two as well,” the old man said while motioning to the remaining pile of parts. “It’s not like I can rightfully sell them in this condition.”
Lem set the pistol down so he could draw the one from his holster. As soon as that gun cleared leather, Jarrett’s heart leaped into his throat. He didn’t know quite what to do if things took a turn and froze in place. That held him off just long enough to remain silent as Lem turned his gun around to hand it grip-first to the old man behind the display case. “I can offer this in trade,” he said.
Seemingly unaffected by the draw, the old man took the pistol and looked it over. As he went through his examination, he emptied its cylinder into his palm. “This’ll go a ways toward covering it,” he said, “but not all.”
“I own the Lazy J,” Jarrett said.
The old man’s eyes snapped over to him. “What’s left of it, you mean. Sorry if that sounds harsh, but . . .”
“No, I understand,” Jarrett replied. In fact, it was good to be dealt with on his real merits instead of pitied. “I still have assets. Land and such. Some equipment that wasn’t lost. Also, we’re riding out on a posse to reclaim my herd. Once I get that back, I’ll have even more funds to draw from.”
“Normally I don’t put much credit in promises,” the old man said. “But it seems you’re in fairly capable company and I imagine you’ll come back from that posse in one piece. I’d say that stretches far enough to cover the remaining cost.”
“Plus some ammunition?” Lem asked.
The old man nodded. “Plus some ammunition.”
Lem took the pistol he’d created and eased it into his holster. Then he and Jarrett took a few boxes of ammunition each. It wasn’t enough to fight a war, but they could make their presence known in a few good fights. Once they were outside the shop, Jarrett let out a breath. “That was some impressive work,” he said. “Maybe we don’t need to wait for the sheriff to drag his sorry hide out on a posse.”
“Having the law with us will be a help.”
Jarrett imagined it would indeed make things easier. If only just barely.
They went back to their horses, loaded the ammunition into the bags along with the rest of the supplies they’d gathered, and climbed into their saddles. After they’d ridden a short way down Main Street, Jarrett asked, “Where are you staying?”
Lem looked over at him without saying a word and then looked back to the street in front of him.
“Come on, now,” Jarrett said. “I’ve never seen you around here and none of the men who own any of the stores we visited recognized you either. Since you would have had to do business with at least one of those fellows on occasion, I’d say you’re newer to Flat Pass than you’d let on.”
“Already told you as much.”
“I guess so. What brings you here?”
Lem looked over at him. “Weren’t you listening when I spoke to the sheriff?”
“Yes, but he didn’t
care about much more than the shortest possible answer to his questions.”
“And you care more than that, huh?” Lem asked. “Is that some sort of sentiment or are you just nosy?”
“I at least care if you have a place to stay and a hot meal. I doubt we’ll be living in luxurious accommodations while on the trail of those rustlers. The least I can do is provide a good start to the ride.”
“What about the sheriff and his men? Do they get the same hospitality?”
“He likes that jail of his so much,” Jarrett replied, “let him sleep in it. I prefer a hot bath poured by a smiling woman.”
Lem chuckled at first and then let out a genuine laugh. “Guess it pays to be a Good Samaritan.”
Chapter 14
When Jarrett put a roof over Lem’s head, he went all out. Not only Lem, but Jack, Edgar, and Jarrett himself all used up one last favor from the owner of the Snelling House Hotel. Despite the unfortunate moniker, it was the best hotel in town and was known particularly for serving a breakfast that was big enough to stuff any man’s belly. Stan was offered a room as well but turned it down.
“I might as well keep my cot at the Chip,” he’d said to Jarrett. “I won’t be able to walk all the way down to Martha Street anyways.”
“Remember what I said about getting too drunk to ride,” Jarrett warned. “If you can’t stay in your saddle come morning, I’ll tie a rope around one foot and drag you behind us.”
Stan gave him a salute and walked back to the saloon district.
“He’ll be drunk tomorrow,” Lem said.
Jarrett shrugged. “More than likely, but he’ll stay in his saddle. Being three sheets to the wind never kept him from riding as long he’s worked for me.”
“You hire drunks?”
“Not as a regular practice, but that particular drunk does his job well enough.”
Since introductions had already been made all around, Lem took the key he was given and headed for the stairs. Jack wasn’t one for small talk, but he could scribble faster than anyone Jarrett knew. He went to the front desk, wrote something on the side of a register page, and turned it toward the clerk.
“Oh yes,” the clerk said after reading the note. “We have bathtubs available on the third floor. I’ll have some hot water sent up there.”
Jack took his key and climbed the stairs to his floor.
“I was gonna ask for laundry service,” Jarrett said, “but with such a long ride ahead of us, it may be better to start off as dirty as where I’ll end up. Shorter distance to fall.”
The clerk gave them each a key and then excused himself to tend to some other manner in the kitchen.
“I . . . wanted to have a word with you,” Edgar said.
Jarrett quickly told him, “No need to thank me for the room. You’ve always done a good job for me, so consider it a gift. Unfortunately you’ll have to be on your own once I leave.”
“That’s not what I meant.” The old man pulled Jarrett away from the stairs and into a small parlor where breakfast was served every morning. Glancing nervously toward the stairs, he opened his mouth to speak but closed it again when he heard movement on one of the upper floors.
“What’s wrong?” Jarrett asked. “You seem spooked.”
“Ain’t you?”
“Honestly I’m not really feeling much of anything at the moment. If I did, I doubt I could see straight.”
Edgar cringed a bit. “Yeah. I suppose it hasn’t been that long since . . . Good Lord,” he said as if he’d been struck by lightning. “Hasn’t been long at all since everything happened.”
Not anxious to be struck by that same bolt just yet, Jarrett said, “Then you were spooked by something else.”
“Right.” Once again, he looked toward the stairs. “It’s that Lem fella.”
“What about him?”
“He seems . . .”
“Spooky?”
“Yes!” Edgar said in a harsh whisper. “Where’d you find him?”
“Actually he found me. He heard about what happened to the J and wanted to help.”
“You don’t think that’s peculiar?”
“Not as such,” Jarrett replied. “Especially since I was on my way to start looking for men who might want to help with that very thing. News travels fast in a town this size, and even if a man was too blind to see the smoke for himself, he would have smelled it. Only seems reasonable that a posse would be formed soon after.” He was drifting a bit too close to the fresh wound on his soul, so Jarrett backed away a few paces from the subject. “Do you think it was strange he heard about what happened?”
“I guess not. It’s just that . . . there’s something about him that sends a chill down my spine.”
“Then it’s a good thing you’re not riding with us.”
“Come on, now. Don’t tell me you think I’d be anything but a burden riding along with some damn posse.”
Even though Jarrett agreed with the old man, voicing that opinion would have been a bit harsh.
“There’s something about Lem,” Edgar continued. “Something I don’t much like.”
“It’s got to be more than that if you pulled me aside like this.”
“That gun he wears. It ain’t like anything I’ve seen.”
Jarrett nodded. “There’s a good reason for that. I was there when he picked that gun up. Remind me to tell you about it sometime. It was quite the sight.”
Edgar was somewhat relieved by that. “So he just got it?”
“From the shop owned by that old blacksmith. Now, that old fella is someone who’ll put a scare into folks.”
“What about the holster?”
“What about it?” Jarrett let out a sigh.
“I’ve met a few gunmen in my day,” Edgar said. “Killers.”
“So have I. And I hope to meet them again real soon.”
“I mean before those rustlers came along,” Edgar said. “Since before you were born, I was working my way from one ranch to another, and a man crosses paths with all sorts in that kind of life. Many of ’em ain’t the sort any decent man should associate with.”
“And you think Lem is one of those?”
When Edgar nodded, he did so as if he was afraid even that might be overheard by the wrong set of ears. “You can tell a man like that by the holster he wears.”
“Plenty of men wear holsters.”
“There are certain kinds preferred by gunmen. Also, when they get enough wear in ’em, you can tell it’s seen more than its share of use.”
“Right now Twitch seems more levelheaded than you, which ain’t a compliment,” Jarrett said. “What about Lem’s boots? They tell you anything you don’t like?”
“Damn it, listen to me! Maybe it’s just a gut feeling, but it’s there and I ain’t crazy.”
“Nobody said you were crazy.”
“The hell you weren’t,” Edgar snapped. “I’ve been around longer than you and I’ve seen plenty. I’ve seen more than enough to know that Lem ain’t the sort of man you want to be near.”
“Under normal circumstances, I’d agree,” Jarrett said. “But these circumstances are anything but normal. I’ve seen killers too and I know for a fact that I don’t exactly want farmers at my side when I see them again. This is a posse, not a church social. If Lem knows how to handle a gun, that suits me fine. If he’s got the sand to put it to use when the time comes, that’s even better.”
“What happens if having too many killers in one spot proves to be not such a good thing?”
Jarrett gave the old man a friendly nudge. “Then I’ll thank my stars that I’m riding with a bunch of lawmen.”
• • •
“This is the life, huh?”
Edgar’s words echoed within a long room sectioned off by dividers made from red curtains hanging on wooden fra
mes. Between each divider was a space about half the size of a horse’s stall, and in each of those spaces was a bathtub with a small table beside it. After having his talk with Jarrett, Edgar decided to indulge in all of the amenities offered by the hotel. Jack had already been sitting in his tub when the old man walked into the room with his bucket of steaming water. The only way Edgar knew he was there at all was the sound of lazy splashing from behind one of the other partitions.
Edgar poured his water into a tub while breathing in the steam that quickly filled the space between the dividers on either side of him. “What are these here?” he mused while removing the lid from a glass jar on the table next to the tub. “Bath salts? Fancy, fancy! Oh, and what is that smell?”
“I think it’s lavender.”
Edgar was so startled that he dropped the lid onto the jar. “Who’s there?”
“I believe Mr. Pekoe introduced us.”
“Lem?”
“Yeah. I’d shake your hand, but I’m indisposed at the moment.”
“It’s all right,” Edgar said. “Stay where you are. Seems a mite bit strange. The three of us all getting the same notion in our heads.”
“Not really,” Lem said. “The only hot water we’ll see for a while is what our horses spray on the ground and that ain’t exactly gonna clean us off.”
The three of them might not have been able to see each other, but they shared a laugh as Edgar dumped his clothes into a heap on the floor and eased into his tub. He let out a prolonged sigh and said, “Maybe I’ve had it wrong all those years of working cattle drives. I should’a been a banker or some other sort of dandy so I could slow down like this more often. You know the only thing we’re missing in these comfortable tubs?”
Without hesitation, Lem replied, “Women.”
“You got that right!”
The door opened so someone could step into the room.
Turning toward the direction of that sound didn’t help Edgar very much. All he could see was the curtain hanging from the divider on that side as he asked, “That you, Jarrett? Might as well get the whole bunch in here, I suppose.”
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