“I understand that,” Thomas said, tucking the badge away again, “but I’m pursuin’ two men who murdered a friend of mine. That’s why my badge is in my pocket.”
“Well,” the man said, “as you can see, my badge is on my chest. I am Sheriff Alfonso Perez Montoya. Who are these men you are looking for, Deputy?”
“The Fleming brothers,” Thomas said. “Red and Harry. We had Harry in our jail for murder, and Red broke him out. In doin’ so they killed a guard.”
“That is sad, señor, very sad,” Sheriff Montoya said. “You said ‘we,’ señor?”
“My father’s the sheriff back in Vengeance Creek,” Thomas said, “Daniel Shaye. My brother, James, is the other deputy.”
“Ah,” Montoya said, his eyes lighting up, “I have heard of this Sheriff Daniel Shaye. He is muy malo, is he not? A very bad man to cross?”
“Very bad,” Thomas said.
“And you, señor, you take after your padre?”
“I do,” Thomas said.
“So you are muy malo?”
“I’m malo enough to do my job, Sheriff Montoya.”
“But again, señor, you are not here doing your job, es verdad? This is a personal matter for you.”
“It’s personal,” Thomas said, “but I plan to take them back to Vengeance Creek for trial.”
“Ah, then you do not intend to kill them,” Sheriff Montoya said. “You will forgive me, but the way you wear your gun . . . you strike me as a man who settles his business with la pistola— your gun.”
“On occasion,” Thomas admitted.
“But not on this occasion, eh?”
“I hope not,” Thomas said. “That’s likely gonna be up to them.”
“Well,” Montoya said, “I must tell you I have not seen these men in my town.”
“They’d probably have been here in the past few days,” Thomas said.
“To tell you the truth,” Montoya went on, “I have not even heard of these men, so I would not know them if I saw them.” He shrugged. “Perhaps they were here, passing through.”
“And kept a low profile, you mean.”
“Si,” Montoya said, slapping his palm on his desk, “that is what I mean, a low profile. If they were even here.”
“I see,” Thomas said. “Well, I just wanted to check in with you, let you know I was here, as a courtesy.”
“I appreciate that, señor.”
“I’m gonna check into a hotel,” Thomas continued, “take a quick look around your town, and then I’ll probably leave in the mornin’.”
“That would be wise, señor,” Montoya said. “They are probably just ahead of you.”
“Probably.”
“The hotel above the Cantina Rosita is very fine, señor,” the sheriff said, with a smile. “You will like your room very much.”
“Ah, I just came from there,” Thomas said. “Didn’t realize they had rooms.”
“Oh, si, señor,” Montoya said, “very fine rooms, and good food. And, if you like, very pretty señoritas.” Montoya kissed his fingertips. “Muy bonita.”
“Well,” Thomas admitted, “I like pretty girls. And good food.”
“Si, señor,” Montoya said, with a laugh, “we all like the pretty girls.”
“Thank you for your time, Sheriff.”
“Por nada, señor, por nada,” Montoya said, expansively. “Enjoy your time in Nogales.”
“I’ll sure try,” Thomas said, and left.
He stopped just outside the door, looked up and down the street. The sheriff had obviously been lying about one thing. Any lawman in an area near Arizona, Nevada, New Mexico, or Old Mexico—would have heard of the Fleming Brothers. To claim that he had never heard of them put everything else he had said in doubt.
Even the information about the Cantina Rosita—but Thomas would quickly find out about that himself.
TWENTY-FIVE
Red Fleming watched Thomas Shaye come out of the sheriff’s office. He recognized him from Vengeance Creek. Red backed into a doorway as Shaye looked both ways on the street. Then when the deputy started walking, he followed from a safe distance all the way to the saloon, where he took up a position across the street in an alley.
Thomas went to the Cantina Rosita, and the bartender greeted him in a friendly manner.
“Señor, you are back!” he said happily.
“I was told I could get a room and a meal here,” Thomas said. He didn’t say anything about a pretty señorita.
“But of course, señor,” the bartender said. “We have very fine rooms upstairs.”
“And you have one available right now?”
“Si,” the man said. He reached under the bar and came out with a key. “Number two, just for you.”
Thomas accepted the key. “I’d like to put my things in the room, and then come down and eat somethin’.”
“Si, señor,” the bartender said. “We do a very fine supper.”
“That’ll do,” Thomas said. “I’ll be right down.”
Thomas went up to his room, which he found to be almost as small as one of the jail cells back in the Shayes’ jail. The mattress was paper thin, the flimsy dresser was covered with dust, as was the window sill. The window overlooked the street. He peered out for several moments, looking down at the siesta-time front street. He was about to turn away when he spotted something else, something odd.
Red Fleming saw Thomas Shaye in the window of a room above the Cantina Rosita, and quickly stepped back into the alley to avoid being seen. If the deputy saw him and came out to challenge him, he might end up being in a shootout in the street, and he wasn’t ready for that. He’d heard some stories about Shaye’s speed with a gun. Red was a gang leader, a planner, and a leader of men. Although he was fast with a gun, it was not something that was at the top of his own list of accomplishments. Facing Thomas Shaye out in the street was in his future plans, but only when he was ready. That kind of foolishness was his brother, Harry’s, idea of a plan. But Red knew when they did challenge the deputy, it would be the two of them together, or himself alone. He’d not let Harry ever meet Shaye by himself.
He peered around the building from the alley and saw that Shaye’s window was empty. He decided to get closer.
Thomas backed away from the window.
There was a man across the street in an alley, watching the building. It was either one of the Fleming brothers, or the sheriff had put somebody on his tail. He decided to see to his personal needs before anything. That meant a wash, a drink, and a meal.
Red Fleming peered into the cantina, didn’t see Shaye anywhere. There were only a few people inside, and the bartender. He moved to one of the front windows, which was covered with grime, but still afforded him a view of the inside. He settled down to watch and determine whether or not Thomas Shaye was alone in Nogales.
Thomas came down and saw one of the cantina tables set for a meal.
“Here you go, señor,” the bartender said, coming over to stand next to the table. “A fine meal.”
“It looks good,” Thomas said. “Thanks.”
“Cerveza with the food?”
“Yes, please.”
Thomas sat down at the table, which was covered with platters of meat, beans, vegetables, and tortillas. He spread one of the tortillas on a plate, shoveled food onto it, then rolled it up and took a bite.
“How is it, señor?” the bartender asked, returning with the beer.
“It’s very good,” Thomas said. “Thank you for this and the beer.” He looked around. “When does this place liven up?”
“Right after siesta time,” the bartender said. “Customers will begin coming in to drink and eat and . . .”
“And?”
“And see my girls.”
“The pretty señoritas,” Thomas said.
“Si,” the bartender said.
“What’s your name?”
“I am Manolito, señor,” the man said. “Everyone calls me Mano.”
�
�Well, Mano,” Thomas said, “I’m still lookin’ for two men, brothers, who robbed a bank in my town, Vengeance Creek.”
“Like I told you, señor,” Mano said, “I have not seen any such men here in Nogales.”
“Maybe they just haven’t come into your place,” Thomas said. “How many other hotels are there in town? And cantinas?”
“There are three hotels,” Mano said, “and many cantinas. I can tell you where they all are. Maybe you will find the men you are looking for at one of them.”
Thomas continued to eat and listened while Mano gave him the lineup of hotels and cantinas.
“You’re bein’ very helpful, Mano,” he said, then. “Why is that?”
“Señor,” the bartender said, reproachfully, “I am a law-abiding citizen of Mexico.”
“Uh-huh,” Thomas said, taking that comment with a full grain of salt. “And?”
“And perhaps,” the bartender said with a shrug of his shoulders, “when you catch the men you are looking for, if there is a reward . . .”
“I see,” Thomas said, rubbing his jaw. “Well, I’m sure they’re wanted somewhere. And if your information helps me catch them, I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t get the reward money.”
“Señor,” the barman said, with a very broad smile, “you have made me a very happy man. I will leave you now to enjoy your meal.”
“Thank you, Mano.”
Fleming watched through the grimy window as Shaye destroyed the food on the table. After the initial conversation with the bartender, there was no more talking. Even if Shaye was asking the man about him and his brother, Harry, there was no problem. The Flemings had never stepped foot in the Cantina Rosita.
The more Red watched Thomas Shaye, the more convinced he became that the man was alone.
Easy pickings.
TWENTY-SIX
Sheriff Daniel Shaye ate his breakfast at his desk, thinking about his two sons. If not for the looming shadow of Cole Doucette, he’d be out on the trail with them, tracking the Fleming brothers. He probably wouldn’t even have sent James after Candy. Rather, the three of them could have tracked the Flemings, figuring Candy would—at some point—join up with them. As it stood, Candy would probably lead James to the Flemings, but whether it would be before or after Thomas caught up to them was to be seen.
He left his office to carry the tray back to the café. When he walked in, Katrina smiled from across the room and then ran over to him.
“Any word, Sheriff?” she asked, taking the tray from him.
“From Thomas?” He shook his head. “Not a peep.”
“Aren’t you worried?”
“About my boys? They’re deputies. They can take care of themselves.”
“I’m sure they can,” she said. “That’s why you’ve got that new frown line between your eyes.”
“Where?”
She pressed her forefinger to a spot on his forehead. “Right there.”
“You’re a crazy girl,” he said.
“You should have had a telegram from Thomas or James by now,” she insisted.
“Not if they have nothin’ to say.”
“How about telegraphing that they’re still alive?”
“You worry too much, girl.”
“And you don’t worry enough, Dan Shaye!” she said, scolding him.
“As soon as I hear anythin’, I promise to let you know.”
“You’d better!”
Shaye turned and left the café.
He was worried about his boys, but he wasn’t about to discuss his feelings with Katrina, or anyone else, for that matter. He’d been making his rounds twice as often as he usually did, just so he wouldn’t sit in his office and wonder about his deputies. He knew Thomas could handle himself, but he was tracking two men, not one. As for James, this was the first time he’d sent his youngest son out on his own. James was not the gunhand Thomas was, and frankly, was not as tough as his older brother.
He started walking his early rounds. Maybe he’d have some conversations with storekeepers or citizens, to keep his mind busy. He didn’t need to be thinking about Thomas and James every minute of the day.
During Shaye’s rounds, he’d been keeping a sharp eye on Main Street and any strangers riding into town. For the past week, nothing unusual had happened. Now, at midday, there he was, a single rider, coming down the street at a very leisurely pace.
He didn’t doubt that Cole Doucette would send someone in ahead of him to take stock of the conditions in town. Once he found out the sheriff was there alone, without his deputies, that’s when Doucette would be coming in.
Shaye watched the stranger until he’d reined in his horse in front of the Renegade Saloon. He tied his horse off and went inside.
Shaye crossed the street and entered the saloon, stopping just inside the batwing doors. The stranger stood at the bar, but didn’t stay there long. He ordered a bottle, then turned and carried it and a glass to a nearby table. He sat alone with tables full of men clustered around him. That was what someone would do who wanted to gather intelligence about a town without actually asking questions.
Shaye had done some research on Cole Doucette and learned that the man had been an officer during the Civil War, for the Confederacy. As such, he’d be familiar with intelligence work.
Shaye walked over to the man’s table, ignoring the greetings he got from some of the surrounding patrons. The Renegade was the busiest saloon in town, and even during “off” hours when people were working in stores or on a nearby ranch, there were customers.
He stopped at the stranger’s table as the man was pouring himself a drink. When he finished, he set the bottle down, and then looked up at Shaye.
“Sheriff,” the man said. “Can I help you?”
“Mind if I sit?”
“You’re the law,” the man said. “You’d sit whether I minded or not, wouldn’t you?”
The man was intelligent. That was obvious from his speech pattern. Just the kind of man who’d be sent in to gather information. A stupid man would be useless for such work.
Shaye sat.
“Drink? I can get another glass.”
“No, thanks. I saw you ride into town.”
“And you thought you’d greet me personally,” the stranger said. “I appreciate that.”
“You got a name?”
“Everybody’s got a name, Sheriff,” the man said. “I bet you’ve got one.”
“Sheriff Daniel Shaye.”
“I’ve heard of you” the man said. “My name’s Tate Kingdom.”
Shaye sat back.
“I’ve heard of you, too.”
“Well, luckily,” Kingdom said, “I’m not wanted in Arizona. Or even the surrounding areas.”
“So is that why you’re here?” Shaye asked. “Because you’re not wanted?”
“Not really,” Kingdom said. “I just needed a bottle, is all.”
“So you’re on your way to somewhere else?”
“Look,” Kingdom said, “I’m just trying to stay out of trouble.”
“Well, a man with your reputation with a gun has trouble following him everywhere, don’t you think?”
Kingdom laughed. “I don’t know. But I guess a man with your reputation knows all about that.”
“Men don’t seek out the law as much as they seek out gunfighters,” Shaye pointed out. “Killin’ you will give a man a much bigger reputation than killin’ me.”
“I think you’re too modest, Sheriff,” Kingdom said.
“Tell me,” Shaye said, “you know a man named Doucette?”
“Doucette?” Kingdom repeated. “Let me think. There was a Cole Doucette went to prison a few years ago.”
“That’s him.”
“Is he out?”
“He is.”
“What’s that got to do with me?”
“He’s on his way here.”
“Again,” Kingdom asked, “what’s that got to do with me?”
“I f
igure he’ll send an advance man to town to get the lay of the land.”
“And you figure that’s me?”
“I’m just lookin’ at strangers comin’ into town,” Shaye said,
“and you’re the first one in days.”
“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Sheriff,” Kingdom said.
“I don’t know Cole Doucette.”
Shaye studied the man. He was in his mid-thirties, had been carrying that fast-gun reputation with him for over ten years. He had an easy way about him, the kind men who can take care of themselves always have. Shaye knew Thomas was going to have that in a few years, maybe sooner.
“I guess I’m going to have to take your word for that, Mr. Kingdom.”
“Oh, just call me Tate. Everybody does.”
“Okay, Tate,” Shaye said, “we’re not going to have any problems in town if you’re not with Doucette.”
“No trouble from me, Sheriff,” Kingdom said. “I’m just looking to drink, eat, sleep and maybe play a little poker.”
“How long are you plannin’ on stayin’ in Vengeance Creek?” Shaye asked.
“Don’t know,” Kingdom said. “I guess that depends on how nice a town it is.”
“Well, it’s pretty nice, most times,” Shaye said, “but if Doucette and his gang get here . . .”
“What are they coming here for?” Kingdom asked. “Do you know?”
“Revenge.”
“Revenge in Vengeance Creek,” Kingdom said, pouring himself another drink. “How fitting. Are you the target?”
“No,” Shaye said. “I’ve never met the man, either.”
“Well,” Kingdom said, “I’m sure you and your deputies can handle him and his gang.”
“I guess that’ll depend on how many men he comes with.”
“And I guess that’ll depend on whether he wants revenge against one man or the whole town.”
That was a good point. If Doucette would be satisfied with just killing the mayor, he could even do it alone. But if he intended to make the whole town pay for what happened to him—figuring they deserved it for having Snow as the mayor—he’d come with enough men to take a town.
If that was the case, without Thomas and James, Shaye would be in a lot of trouble.
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