The Dead Town

by J. R. Roberts

  “He’s rigid,” Deadly said. “Men who won’t bend usually break, at some point. I’ve put a lot of them into the ground.”

  “We can get this done, Sheriff,” Clint said. “It may take days, or weeks, or even months, and a lot of miles, but we can do it.”

  “With a drunk, a kid, and a woman?”

  “The woman can shoot. I think you helped prove that yourself,” Clint said. “And don’t forget she’s already killed one of them. And Lastings did okay yesterday. Our only real question mark is the kid.”

  “Not exactly,” Deadly said. “I’m afraid I may be the biggest question mark of all.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “I guess we’ll get all our questions answered when we catch up to them.”

  Deadly nodded and sighed.

  “I just hope we get the answers I want.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  Clint woke in the morning, came down to the lobby, and found the kid, Caleb, waiting there.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “Mornin’, Mr. Adams. Are we goin’ now?”

  “Soon, kid, soon,” Clint said. “I need some breakfast first. I think we all do.”

  “Count me in,” Deadly said, coming up behind Clint. He looked at Caleb. “Where’s Lastings?”

  “He found a girl last night, took her to his room,” Caleb said. “He promised he wouldn’t get drunk, and that he’d meet us this morning.”

  “And I guess he kept his promise,” Clint said as Lastings entered the lobby.

  “Breakfast anyone?” he asked. “I found a really good place for it.”

  “We just need to wait for Gloria,” Clint said.

  “I can wait,” Caleb said. “Or I could go up and knock on her door—”

  “Nobody needs to knock on my door,” Gloria said, coming down the stairs. “I’m here and I’m hungry.”

  “Then let’s go,” Clint said. “Lastings, lead the way.”

  He took them to a small café, blocks from the one where Clint and Deadly had eaten their steaks. Clint went for steak and eggs, Deadly the same. Around the table bacon or ham and eggs were called for. The waitress returned with two pots of coffee.

  “So it’s just us?” Lastings asked.

  “Looks that way,” Deadly said.

  “Ah, we can handle it, right, kid?”

  “That’s right,” Caleb said.

  “Lastings, after we eat, why don’t you and Caleb go and fetch the horses. Clint, Gloria, and me will go to the general store and get some supplies.”

  “Let’s travel light,” Clint said. “Enough to keep us alive and warm, but not enough to need a packhorse.”

  “Suits me,” Deadly said. “I’d rather travel light and fast.”

  The waitress brought their plates, and they all started eating.

  During the meal Deadly told them all that they were probably going to be crossing state lines, if that mattered to anyone.

  “That’s only gonna matter to you, Sheriff,” Lastings said. “You’re the only one that’s official.”

  “I just want you all to know I’m committed to running these men down no matter how long it takes.”

  “So am I,” Gloria said.

  “I got nothin’ better to do,” Lastings said.

  “Me neither,” Caleb said.

  “So we’re all committed,” Clint said. “Now we just need to pick up their trail.”

  “That won’t be hard,” Gloria said. “They pretty much leave a trail of bodies behind them wherever they go.”

  “Once they cross into Iowa, I wonder if they’ll keep going south, or head west to Wyoming,” Deadly said.

  “Maybe Gloria can tell us,” Clint said.

  “Me? How would I know?”

  “You’ve been dogging their trail,” Clint said. “Make a guess. Have they left their mark on Iowa? Or Wyoming?”

  “Iowa, yeah,” she said. “I tracked them through Iowa. I don’t think they’ve done anything in Wyoming, though.”

  “There you go,” Clint said. “An educated guess—Wyoming.”

  “So what, we should just head for Wyoming, maybe cut ’em off?”

  “We don’t have to do anything that drastic yet,” Clint said. “If Gloria is right—and she seems to have been up to now—they’ll leave us a trail.”

  “But in the event we need to make a guess,” Deadly said, “we’ve got one.”

  “Yes, we do,” Clint said.

  After breakfast they all did their assigned jobs and came together in front of the general store. Deadly and Clint had rationed out the supplies into five burlap sacks, and they tied one of them to each of their saddles.

  Clint caught Deadly looking off, up and down the street.

  “You thinking that lawman’s going to change his mind?” Clint asked.

  “I just can’t believe he’d do nothin’,” Deadly said. “I mean, I know what you said about evidence is true, but still . . .”

  “Forget it, Walter,” Clint said. “Just accept that you’re more lawman than he’ll ever be.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  Nutty Pettigrew took the frying pan off the fire, walked around, and scraped some bacon and beans onto the plates of his cousins and brother, and then his own.

  “Bacon and beans for breakfast?” Lyle complained.

  “All we got, cuz.”

  “Jesus,” Lyle said, “we’ll have to get supplies the next place we come to.”

  Nutty knew that Lyle didn’t care if they came to a house, a town, or a church, he was going to get some supplies.

  He picked up the coffeepot and gave everybody some coffee.

  “Last of it,” he said.

  “Christ,” Lyle said, “if you guys were less interested in rape we could be gettin’ ourselves more supplies before we burn a place down.”

  “What’s more interestin’ than rape?” Joe asked.

  “Nothin’, far as you’re concerned,” Lyle said. “You know, you’re a sick man, Joe.”

  “Yeah, yeah, you tol’ me that before, but I didn’t see you skippin’ your turn, did I?”

  “Well, I ain’t stupid,” Lyle said. “If it’s there, I’m gonna tear me off a piece.”

  “Christ, you’re all sick,” Deacon said. “Ya didn’t see me stickin’ my prick into some little girl, didja?”

  Joe laughed and said, “That’s only ’cause you didn’t want sloppy fourths, cousin.”

  “It’s because I’d rather have sex with a woman than with some kid.”

  “Hey,” Joe said, “a hole is a hole, am I right? Huh?”

  “Not when they’re too young to even get wet,” Deacon said.

  “Wet, dry, I still get in there,” Joe said happily.

  Lyle studied his brother Joe. Ten years younger than Lyle’s thirty-five, Joe was getting more and more out of control when it came to females. Lyle had promised their ma on her deathbed that he’d take care of her little baby, Joe, but Lyle was starting to think that the best thing he could do for his little brother was put him down.

  “Where we headin’ from here, Lyle?” Joe asked. “We ain’t gonna stay in Iowa, are we?”

  “We’re wanted in Iowa,” Nutty said. “We can’t stay here.”

  “Nutty’s right,” Lyle said. “We’re gonna head for Wyoming.”

  “We ain’t never been to Wyoming,” Deacon said.

  “What about Jerry?’ Joe asked, looking at Lyle.

  “Your brother’s dead, Joe,” Lyle said. “If he wasn’t, he’d be here by now.”

  “Damn,” Joe said. “You think some lawman got him?”

  “Or some husband.”

  Joe chuckled. Most of what he knew about women he’d learned from Jerry.

  “You’re runnin’ out of brothers, Lyle,” Nutty said, “and we’re runnin’ out of cousins.”

  “Maybe that bitch that got Lemuel got Jerry, too,” Deacon said.

  “We should find her and kill her,” Joe said. “But rape her first.”

  “If I read that
bitch right, you’ll get your chance, Joe,” Lyle said.

  “Whatayamean?”

  “I mean she’s gonna keep comin’ until she finds us,” Lyle said. “Then you can have her.”

  “That’ll be my pleasure,” Joe said. “I’ll tear that bitch up.”

  Lyle figured sooner or later he was going to have to get himself away from his family. They were all crazy.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  The posse crossed into Iowa and then turned immediately west. They found a cold camp just over the border. Lastings and Clint both read the sign on the ground and decided that four men had camped, then headed west when they broke camp.

  “So we’re going to follow their trail now?” Deadly asked. “What if it’s not them?”

  “Then we’ll be goin’ a hell of a long way out of our way,” Lastings said.

  “It’s got to be them,” Clint said. “According to Gloria, they’re wanted in Iowa. They wouldn’t stay any longer than they absolutely had to.”

  “You’re assumin’ they’re smart,” Deadly said.

  “They don’t have to be smart,” Clint said, “just cunning, and experienced at running. I think it’s our best bet, Sheriff.”

  Deadly knew that Clint’s calling him “Sheriff” was just a concession to the badge he wore.

  “Well, I’m not gonna tell you you’re wrong,” Deadly said. “So we’ll head west. Lastings, you go on and ride up ahead of us.”

  “Sure thing, Sheriff.”

  “Soon as you see somethin’, you let us know.”

  “Right, Sheriff.”

  Lastings gigged his horse into a gallop. In moments he was out of sight.

  They started riding in his wake, Clint and Deadly side by side at the front, with Gloria and Caleb side by side behind them. Ever since Cottonwood, Caleb had been acting like a lovesick puppy around Gloria. It was starting to get on her nerves.

  “Do you want some water, Gloria?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “How about some peppermint candy? I bought some back in town.”

  “No.”

  “I got some beef jerky—”

  “No!” she said. “Caleb, could you just shut up for a while?”

  “Sure, Gloria,” Caleb said. “I can shut up. Don’t you worry.”

  Up ahead Clint smiled at what he was hearing behind him, but sobered when he looked over at Walter Deadly. The longer they were out, the more and more intense the man was getting. It was plain that he had more aptitude as an undertaker than he had as a lawman, but he was still intent on doing the job. Clint only hoped that what happened when they caught up to the Pettigrews didn’t change Walter Deadly for the worst—and change him irrevocably.

  Sheriff Walter Deadly was wishing he had never left Bedford. In fact, he wished he had never left his place of business.

  Damn it, he was an undertaker, he wasn’t a lawman. He wasn’t a gunman. And he wasn’t a tracker. What the hell was he doing out here in the middle of nowhere, trying to track down a gang of killers?

  All along Deadly had been grateful to Clint Adams for coming with them, but now he knew that Adams was the only reason he couldn’t turn back. He would lose too much face. On the other hand, if Clint had not been along, then he could have turned back when all the others did, not worrying about what anybody thought of him.

  He didn’t even care what the woman, Gloria, thought of him. If Clint Adams hadn’t been riding right there next to him, he would have turned back.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Compared to Minnesota, Wyoming was heaven, even though Clint still had to wear his jacket.

  “Okay,” Deadly said, looking out over the expanse of land ahead of them, “we’re in Wyoming. Now what?”

  “Maybe Lastings will find something for us,” Clint said.

  “Maybe he’ll lose Caleb,” Gloria said hopefully. Her horse was drinking from the small water hole they’d stopped at.

  At her request, Clint had started letting the kid ride with Lastings. He told him maybe he’d learn something. Gloria appreciated the quiet time.

  Deadly looked done in. Even his horse’s head was drooping.

  “Let’s take a break,” Clint suggested.

  He dismounted and walked Eclipse over to the water hole.

  Deadly remained mounted for a few moments, then dismounted slowly. Clint had the feeling he hadn’t ridden this hard in a long time—maybe ever.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  “I don’t really do a lot of riding as an undertaker,” the man said, letting his horse drink.

  “You’ve been doing pretty good up to now.”

  “Yeah, well, it only started to hurt . . . well, a while back.”

  “See if you can stretch it out,” Clint said.

  “It’s not my back so much as it’s my . . .”

  “I get it,” Clint said. “The only thing that’ll fix that, believe it or not, is more riding.”

  “Well, that’s what we’re gonna be doin’,” Deadly said, “for a while.”

  Clint knew that Deadly was starting to feel sorry he’d ever started this—probably sorry he’d ever accepted the job of sheriff. But Clint couldn’t let the man know he knew that.

  “I guess we better hit the saddle again,” he said.

  “Right,” Deadly said, “but let’s fill our canteens first.”

  “Good idea. Gloria?”

  “I heard,” she said. “I’m filling it now.”

  Clint filled his own canteen and hung it on his saddle. Gloria came over to stand next to him.

  “Is he all right?” she asked.

  “He’s a little out of his element.”

  “I think we all are, except you.”

  “Yeah,” Clint said, “I’ve noticed that.”

  “Why don’t you tell him to forget it and go back home?” she said. “He can take Lastings and the kid with him. And then you can go your way.”

  “And you’ll go yours?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Which is after the Pettigrews.”

  “Right again.”

  “Alone?”

  “That’s what I’ve been doing for a while,” she said, “taking care of myself.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “he may be out of his element, but I don’t think he’d go for that.”

  “You could stay with me,” she suggested. “We can probably move faster without them. And we don’t need to have his badge with us when we catch up to them.”

  “So you can just kill them?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I don’t think that’s going to work, Gloria,” Clint said, “but if you want to approach him with the idea, be my guest.”

  She turned and looked over at Deadly, who was filling his canteen . . . slowly.

  “No,” she said, “I’d probably just embarrass him.”

  “Good point.”

  “And by the time we do catch up to them,” Clint said, “he may be ready to forget he’s wearing a badge. Besides, it doesn’t really mean very much in Wyoming.”

  “You’re probably right. Hey, I’ve got somethin’ to ask you.”

  “What?”

  “Back in Cold Creek, how did you know I’d be able to make that shot? The whiskey bottle.”

  “Back when we met, I realized you had a natural aptitude with a gun.”

  “Yeah, but that was a trick shot.”

  “I figured you’d probably been practicing since then.”

  “I have,” she said, “but you know what? I’ve never been able to make that shot before.”

  He smiled.

  “You two ready to go?” Deadly asked. He’d already mounted up.

  “Yeah, we’re ready,” Clint said.

  “Yep,” Gloria said, “we are.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  “You know,” Gloria said to Clint and Deadly a while later, “there’s no way we can bring them back for killing the lawmen, or the family.”

  “Why’s that?” Deadly asked.


  “Because they never leave witnesses,” she said. “A judge is gonna give you the same story that sheriff back in Cottonwood did.”

  Clint knew what she was doing. She was trying to get Deadly to forget about taking them back to stand trial.

  “You might be right.”

  “It would probably be easier to take care of them when we catch up, instead of trying to bring them all the way back to Minnesota.”

  “Take care of them?” Deadly asked. “You mean kill them?”

  “If we have to.”

  Clint thought Deadly would protest, but the man surprised him by saying, “You might be right about that, too.”

  “You’d have to take off that badge and put it in your pocket,” Clint said. “Not even take it out until you get back home.”

  Without hesitating, Deadly unpinned the star on his chest and put it in his pocket.

  “I don’t even think I’ll take it out of my pocket when I get home, except to give it back.”

  “You’re done?” Clint asked.

  “I’m done when I get back home. This isn’t for me, Clint.”

  Clint knew they could talk about it now, because it was Deadly himself who’d brought it up—the part about being out of his element anyway.

  “Who am I kiddin’?” he asked. “I’m an undertaker, not a lawman.”

  “Why’d you take the job then?”

  “Nobody else wanted it,” he said, “and face it, that town is so small I never thought we even needed a lawman. Hell, we hardly need an undertaker.”Clint asked.

  “How’d you end up there?” Clint asked.

  “You might not believe it, but the town wasn’t always that small. It burned down about ten years ago—most of it anyway. Some of us are just tryin’ to keep it goin’.”

  They were quiet for a while and then Gloria, riding with Clint between her and Deadly, said, “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why try to keep it goin’?” she asked. “Why not just leave and let it die?”

  “You know,” Deadly said, “a couple of days ago I would’ve had an answer for you. Now I’m thinking . . . well yeah, why?”

  Gloria came from a town a lot bigger than Bedford, but hers had died long ago. It took more than buildings to make a town.