“Thomas is smart, too,” Shaye said, “just in a different way.”
“You’ve got good boys, Dan,” Snow said, slapping the lawman on the back. “Good boys.”
When the mayor walked off, Shaye had no idea if the man was going back to work or home. He’d had so much wine, Shaye hoped he was going home.
FOUR
On his way to the jailhouse, Dan Shaye ran into his son James.
“Aren’t you supposed to be eating?” he asked.
“I had a sandwich,” James said. “I want to get back to the jail.”
“Isn’t Thomas there?”
“Yes.”
“Then you can go home.”
The town had included a house with three bedrooms when they hired the Shayes to be their law.
“What’s at home?” James asked. “I’d much rather be at the jail with you and Thomas.”
Shaye noticed that James’s deputy badge had a high sheen on it. More than once he’d come into the office and found the boy polishing the silver star. He was never going to get James to go to college as long as he loved wearing a badge that much.
“What did the mayor want,” James asked, “that was worth him buying you supper?”
“Come on,” Shaye said. “I’ll tell you and your brother at the same time.”
When they entered the adobe jailhouse, Thomas looked up at them from behind the desk. He had his feet up and was leafing through wanted posters.
“What are you doin’ here?” he asked his brother. “Ain’t your badge shiny enough?”
James looked down at his badge and quickly ran his cuff over it.
“Never mind that,” Shaye said. “Have a seat, James, and get out of my chair, Thomas.”
“Sure, Pa.” Thomas dropped his feet to the floor and stood up. Shaye walked around and sat, moving the stack of posters to the side while his boys pulled up chairs.
“What’s goin’ on?” Thomas asked.
“Pa’s gonna tell us what the mayor wanted,” James explained.
“He’s a politician,” Thomas said. “What else could he want but votes?”
“Not quite,” Shaye said. “He’s got a little problem he wanted to let us know about.”
“Us?” Thomas asked.
“That’s right.” He went on to tell his sons about Cole Doucette and the whole Doucette clan.
“You ever heard of the Doucettes, Pa?”
“Once or twice,” Shaye said. “Never ran into them, though.”
“So you think they’re comin’ here?” James asked.
“Don’t know,” Shaye said. “Cole’s the last, and I told the mayor I’d look into it.”
“How you gonna do that?” James asked.
“I’ll send some telegrams,” Shaye said. “To the prison and some lawmen I know, see what anybody’s heard.”
“Other than that,” Thomas said, “seems to me all we got to do is wait for Doucette to get here.”
“If they’re comin’, at all,” James added. He looked at Shaye. “Who says they even are, right, Pa?”
“They’re comin’ all right, James.”
“But how do you know?”
“When a man puts you in jail,” his father said, “you don’t forget it.”
“Yeah, but maybe he knows he deserved it,” James suggested. “What about that?”
“That ain’t likely, little brother,” Thomas said. “We just gotta face that they’ll be here sooner or later.”
James looked from his brother back to his father.
“How many of ’em?”
“Now, that we won’t know till they get here,” Shaye said.
“Then what do we do?”
“We make sure we’re ready for them, James,” Shaye said.
“Do we hire more deputies?”
“Maybe,” Shaye said, “we’ll have to wait and see.”
Thomas made a rude noise with his mouth and said, “Not likely.”
“What do you mean?” James asked.
“This is what folks hire us for, James,” Thomas said. “You ain’t about to get these storekeepers out on the streets with a gun and a badge.”
“Pa?” James said.
“It’s like I already said,” Shaye relied, “we’ll just have to wait and see what happens.” He looked at Thomas. “Did you feed the prisoners?”
“Yes, sir,” he said. “I just have to go in and get the dirty plates.”
“I’ll do that,” Shaye said. “You can go and make your rounds. And you,” he said to his younger son, “go home and get some rest.”
“But Pa—”
“That’s an order, Deputy.”
“Yessir.”
Shaye sat back in his chair and watched his two boys walk through the front door, chattering at each other, as usual. Times like this, when the boys were together, made him think of his third son Matthew, killed by Ethan Langer. Langer had also killed Dan Shaye’s wife when Shaye was the sheriff of Epitaph, Texas. He and the boys had hunted down the Langer gang, and as a result, Langer had killed Matthew—his middle son—and Thomas had killed Langer.
They’d come to Vengeance Creek, Arizona, after that, tried to settle down and enforce the law again, but after tracking down a gang of bank robbers, Shaye had decided that ranching might be safer for his boys. He bought a place outside of Winchester, Wyoming, but that didn’t last. A letter about a possible grandson took them to Pearl River Junction to see if Matthew had, indeed, left behind a baby boy. By the time they found out the story was bogus, there was nothing left for them but to take up the badge, again. Shaye had been sure Vengeance Creek would take them back, and he was right. The new mayor had jumped at the chance to have them.
Maybe now he knew the real reason why.
FIVE
Shaye got up to go into the cell block and collect the dirty plates. The kid, Boyd, was on his back as usual, and his breathing indicated he was asleep. Balanced in the slot was his meal plate, along with the spoon that had been given him. The prisoners were not allowed forks or knives.
Shaye grabbed the plate, moved on to the next cell.
Fleming was sitting on his cot, looking very calm. His plate was next to him.
“Let me have that plate, Fleming,” Shaye said.
“Sure, Sheriff.” He got up, handed Shaye the plate and spoon, and then sat back down. “You know your boy don’t have long to live, don’t you?” he asked.
“That right?”
“Yep,” Fleming said. “My brother Red’ll be here soon. He’s already killed ten men, so one more deputy ain’t gonna make a difference.”
“What I heard about your brother is that he shot most of those men in the back,” Shaye said.
Fleming’s face darkened.
“You shouldn’t oughtta say that, Sheriff. I’m just warnin’ ya to watch out for your family. My brother and me, we watch out for each other.”
“Don’t you worry about my family, Fleming. If your brother is stupid enough to come to town tryin’ to break you out and goes up against my boy, Thomas will take care of business.”
“You three Shayes,” Fleming said, shaking his head, “you better not gang up on my brother. That ain’t a fair fight.”
“Don’t worry, Fleming,” Shaye said. “We’ll do what it takes to uphold the law.”
Fleming was still shouting threats as Shaye left the cell block with the plates, pulling the door closed behind him.
“Why don’t I do your rounds with you?” James said to Thomas outside.
“Why don’t you do what Pa tells you to do for once?” Thomas replied. “Just go home and get some sleep.”
“I’m not sleepy.”
“Then go home and have a whiskey and relax,” Thomas said.
“What do you think about this Doucette family coming to town?” James asked.
“I think we took care of the Langers when we had to,” Thomas said, “and we’ll take care of the Doucettes, the Flemings, and any other families who wanna come after us, because we’re t
he family that counts.”
“The Flemings?” James asked. “But—”
“Go home, James!” Thomas said, and set off to make his late rounds.
By morning, Thomas and James came out of their rooms to the smell of breakfast from the kitchen and found their dad at the stove flipping flapjacks. They shared a house the town had given them as part of the job.
“Sit,” Shaye said. “Gonna make you boys a nice breakfast to start the day.”
“What brought this on?” James asked, sitting at the table.
“I just felt like havin’ your momma’s flapjacks today,” Shaye said, putting a plate on the table with a large stack on it. “Dig in.”
Over breakfast James asked Thomas, “What’d you mean last night about the Fleming family?”
“Aw, it’s nothin’,” Thomas said.
“Pa?”
“The prisoner claims his brother, Red Fleming, is some kind of fast gun. Says he’s gonna come to town to get him out, and kill your brother for puttin’ him in jail.”
“How come everybody’s got a father or brother or an uncle who fancies themselves a fast gun?” James asked.
“That’s the way it was in the old days,” Shaye said. “You had the James boys, and the Youngers, the Earps and the Master-sons . . . lottsa families with reputations.”
“Like ours,” Thomas said. “Pa here is a famous lawman.”
“And what about us?” James asked.
Thomas laughed. “Come on, little brother. Nobody knows who the hell we are.”
“Maybe they will, some day.”
Thomas pointed his knife at his brother and said, “Maybe if you went back East to law school or somethin’, that’d be true.”
James returned the gesture with his own knife and said, “Don’t start that again!”
“I’m just sayin’—”
“Pa—”
“Both of you just shut up and eat,” Daniel Shaye said. “Let’s just keep our minds on the job at hand. Thomas, we gotta release the Boyd kid, today. His Pa’s gonna pay for damages.”
“Suits me.”
“And Fleming?” James asked.
“Still waitin’ for the judge,” Shaye said.
“Or Red Fleming,” James said.
“Whoever,” Shaye said.
“Pa, does this Red Fleming have a reputation?”
“I’ve heard somethin’ about him.”
“Then you ain’t gonna let Thomas face him alone, are you?”
“Don’t you worry about me,” Thomas said. “I ain’t afraid to face no wanna-be gunfighter.”
“Let’s not go lookin’ for trouble, boys,” Shaye said. “We’ll just handle what comes along when it comes along. Now finish up, and then go clean up.”
“Ma never made us clean up,” James said.
“I ain’t your ma,” Shaye said.
“From the taste of these flapjacks,” Thomas said, “that’s more than true.”
SIX
When they got to the jailhouse, they relieved Harvey Ludlow, a man who did odd jobs in town. When the saloon needed swamping, or the livery stable needed sweeping, or the jail needed to be watched, Harvey was your man.
As they entered, Harvey stood up. He was six-and-a-half feet tall and couldn’t have weighed more than 130 pounds soaking wet.
“Okay, thanks for givin’ me a break, Harvey,” Shaye said.
“Sure, Sheriff,” Harvey said. “Any time.”
“Any trouble?”
“No, sir,” Harvey said. “Your prisoners were real quiet.”
“Go to the café. I arranged for them to give you breakfast. They won’t charge you.”
The young man smiled broadly and said, “Thanks, Sheriff! See you, boys.”
“ ’Bye, Harvey,” James said.
Harvey left, and Shaye sat behind his desk.
“Okay, you boys go out and do your mornin’ rounds,” Shaye said. “I’ll wait for Katrina to get here with the prisoners’ breakfasts.”
“She’s gonna be real disappointed not to find Thomas here,” James said, with a grin. “That girl’s got her sights set on you. How about a spring weddin’? Sound good?”
“Shut up, James,” Thomas said.
“Go!” Shaye said. “Fight outside.”
Thomas and James went out the door, still bickering. Only when the door closed behind them did their father smile.
Red Fleming sat at the campfire and drank his coffee. Around him, his men were breaking camp, dousing their fires and saddling their horses.
“We’re almost ready, Red,” Dan Cannaday told him. Everyone called him “Candy.” Even on his wanted poster it said Dan “Candy” Cannaday.
Red dumped the remainder of his coffee into the fire, said to Candy, “Have somebody douse that one,” and handed him the cup.
“Bentley,” Candy shouted, “douse this fire!”
“Right!”
Candy turned and followed Red, who walked to his horse and began to saddle it.
“We gettin’ this done today?” Candy asked.
“We are.”
Red, at thirty-five, was about eight years older than Candy, who recognized not only Red’s ability with a gun, but his leadership qualities. He had no problem being Number Two to the older man . . . for now.
“What about the town?” Candy asked.
“What about it?” Red asked.
“What do we do to it after we get your brother out of jail?”
Red dropped his blanket onto his horse’s back, then turned to face Candy. He had black hair and black stubble on his face. “Red” was not a nickname, it was what his parents named him.
“What are you talkin’ about?” he demanded. “You wanna burn the town down after? Loot it? Rape the women?”
“All of it,” Candy said, licking his lips.
Red looked around at the other five men in camp.
“They feel the same way?”
“Pretty much.”
“That’s not why I’m goin’ to Vengeance Creek,” Red told him. “Never was.”
“I know,” Candy said. “You’re goin’ to get your brother out of jail. Keep him from hangin’.”
“That’s right. I ain’t no town-burner, Candy.”
He bent over, lifted his saddle and tossed it up onto his horse’s back.
“So then, what’s in it for us?” Candy asked. “The rest of us? You said you’d make it worth our while to help you break your brother out.”
“And I will,” Red said. “Me and my brother, we both will. But you burn down that town, and we’ll be runnin’ for the rest of our lives. Especially if you rape the women and kill all the men. The law has a way of not forgettin’ about things like that.”
“But this way you and your brother are gonna make it worth stickin’ our necks out,” Candy said. “None of it’s legal, is it?”
“No.”
“So the law will still be after us.”
“Maybe,” Red said, “but it ain’t gonna be for mass murder.”
“Mass murder?”
“That’s what they’d call it.”
“So whatta you gonna do? Break your brother out and kill a lawman?”
“Just one,” Red said. “The one who put him in there.”
“Ain’t that murder?”
Red turned to face Candy again.
“Not if it’s a fair fight, my friend,” Red said. “Right out in the center of the street.”
“You think you’re Wild Bill Hickok, don’t ya?” Candy asked.
“Not Hickok,” Red said, “just me, Red Fleming. Now, you better get saddled up.”
“Okay,” Candy said, “but I ain’t convinced about this, and I don’t know if the others will be, either.”
“Well,” Red said, putting his left hand on Candy’s shoulder and looking him square in the eye, “I’ll just have to convince you, and then you and me, we’ll convince them.”
“I been to Vengeance Creek once or twice before, ya know,” Cand
y said.
“So?”
“That town would burn real good,” Candy said, shaking his head. “Real good.”
“Well then,” Red Fleming said, “another time, maybe.”
SEVEN
It was later in the day when Red Fleming rode into town with his men.
“I want the street to be busy,” he explained to Candy. “Nobody’ll start shootin’ with innocent bystanders on the street.”
“Except maybe us,” Candy said, with a laugh.
“Except maybe us,” Red agreed.
But they didn’t start shooting. Not as soon as they rode in.
Daniel Shaye was in his office, wondering whether he should have lunch there or actually get over to the café to eat. He’d make the decision when Thomas relieved him.
Thomas was already at the café, sitting alone in a corner, eating his lunch and trading flirtatious remarks with Katrina.
It was James who was on the street as the Fleming gang rode in. He saw the men, because James always kept a sharp eye out for trouble, and this many men riding into town together was a definite portent of trouble.
James backed into some equipment outside of the hardware store, using it to watch the group as they rode past, hoping they didn’t notice him. Could this have been Red Fleming, come to town to free his brother from jail? Or was it the family the mayor was worried about, the Doucettes? Or was this something totally different, just a bunch of cowboys looking to blow off a little steam?
He continued to watch the riders after they rode by him and, as expected, they reined in their horses in front of the Renegade Saloon.
Once he saw them dismount and go inside, he stepped away from the hardware store and headed for the sheriff’s office.
“Riders just came in, Pa,” James said, as soon as he entered the office.
“How many?”
“Six or seven.”
“Which is it, James?”
James hesitated, then said, “Seven.”
Dan Shaye stood up, grabbed his hat and gunbelt from a rack on the wall.
“Where’s your brother? Still at the café?”
“As far as I know? Who d’ya think they are, Pa?”
“Could be anybody,” Shaye said, “but we’re gonna find out for sure, boy. Where’d they go?”
“The Renegade.”
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