TWENTY-SEVEN
Shaye wasn’t satisfied that Kingdom was not Doucette’s advance man. But he didn’t think he was. It wasn’t the kind of job a man like Tate Kingdom hired out for. Kingdom was a money gun, pure and simple. This kind of job would be beneath him.
Shaye was sitting in a chair out in front of his office, thinking about making rounds again, when three riders galloped down the street. Strangers. Four in one day. That was unusual. Vengeance Creek wasn’t exactly off the beaten path, but it wasn’t on any kind of right of way, either.
He watched the three men ride up to the Renegade and dismount. Would Doucette send three of his men in ahead of him? Maybe to occupy Dan Shaye’s time?
Shaye actually wouldn’t have minded if these were Doucette’s men. Maybe he could take care of them before their boss got there. It would give him that many less men to face with Cole Doucette.
But to find out if they worked for Doucette, he was going to have to ask them.
He got up from his chair and crossed the street to the Renegade Saloon.
The Renegade was in full swing when Shaye entered this time. It didn’t look like there was an empty table to be had. On his way in, he passed two men stumbling out, one of whom looked like he had a broken arm.
“What happened, Jakes?” he asked the healthy one.
“Three strangers elbowed their way up to the bar and pushed Edwards here out of the way. When he protested, they broke his arm.”
“Okay,” Shaye said, “get him to the doc.”
Jakes supported Edwards as they walked away from the saloon.
Shaye usually had good luck when confronting strangers in town. That was because most of them were just looking for a drink and a good time. Or, like the men Mayor Snow had brought in, they weren’t prepared to fight.
The other kind of man was Tate Kingdom, who was relaxed right up to the moment he had to pull his gun.
As he entered the Renegade, he had no idea what he might encounter at the hands of the three strangers, although Edwards’ broken arm gave him ammo for a good guess.
They were standing at the bar, having forced their way in by pushing others aside. They had beers, and were slapping each other on the back.
Shaye approached, and some of the patrons at the bar who saw him coming made room for him.
“You fellas havin’ a good time already?” he asked the three. “You just rode into town.”
They looked over at him to see who was addressing them, spotting the badge on his shirt.
“Well, look here, Willy,” one said. “The sheriff’s come to greet us.”
“I see ’im, Bama,” Willy said. “Sheriff, let us buy you a drink.”
“I’ll need to know your names,” Shaye said.
“To have a drink with us?”
“To know if you’re wanted.”
“Well, I’m Willy Raines,” the spokesman said, “this here’s Paul Grant, and that there’s Bama.”
Bama smiled. “They call me that ’cause I’m from Alabama.”
Raines and Grant looked to be in their thirties, while Bama was a big man in his late twenties.
“You fellas always break somebody’s arm the minute you get to town?” Shaye asked.
“Sure,” Bama said, “sort of sets the tone, don’t ya think? Nobody bothers us after that.”
“Don’t pay no attention to him, Sheriff,” Willy said. “We didn’t mean to break that fella’s arm. He just sort of got in our way.”
“Well, he’s gonna need doctorin’,” Shaye said, “and somebody’s going to have to pay the doctor bill on that.”
“Well, we’ll pay it, Sheriff,” Willy said. “No problem.”
“Yeah,” Bama said with a laugh. “You just have that fella bring us the bill.”
“Then maybe we can break his other arm, huh, Bama?” Grant said, speaking for the first time.
“I’m gonna need you boys to come along with me,” Shaye said.
“Where to, Sheriff?” Willy asked.
“My office.”
“To jail?” Grant asked.
“That’s right,” Shaye said, “but first I’ll need you to put your guns on the bar.”
“Now, Sheriff,” Willy Raines said, putting his beer mug down, “this seems a little excessive, don’t ya, think? All we done was break a fella’s arm.”
The other two also put their mugs down. They all turned to face Shaye.
“That happens to be against the law in this town,” Shaye said. “You’ll need to spend a day in a cell.”
“We ain’t spendin’ no time in a cell, Sheriff,” Willy Raines said. “And I don’t think you’re man enough to take us over there. Not alone, anyways.”
“And I don’t see no deputies,” Grant said. “You got deputies, Sheriff?”
“I don’t need any deputies to handle three punks like you,” Shaye said.
“Now, Sheriff,” Willy said, “there ain’t no need for name callin’. Bama don’t like it when somebody calls him names.”
“No,” Bama said, “I sure don’t.”
“So, why don’t you and Bama put your guns on the bar, and you two fellas can have it out, man to man,” Willy suggested.
“That sounds doable,” Shaye said. “You first, Bama.”
“I don’t need no gun to handle an old man,” Bama said, dropping his gun onto the bar and stepping away.
Now that his gun was out of reach, Shaye had a two-on-one situation.
“Okay, now the two of you. Guns on the bar.”
It suddenly got very quiet in the saloon, and a wide circle formed around the four men.
Raines frowned. “I thought you was gonna take on Bama man-to-man.”
“Now what kind of jackass would I be to agree to that?” Shaye asked.
“You lied?” Willy asked.
“I didn’t lie,” Shaye said. “I said it sounded doable. Then I changed my mind.”
“Why you—” Bama said, taking a step.
“Don’t make me shoot an unarmed man, Bama,” Shaye said.
Willy studied Shaye for a few moments, then said, “You know, I don’t think you would, Sheriff.”
“Ask Bama if he wants to test your theory.”
“Besides,” Willy went on, “I don’t think you could get your gun out quick enough to do it before me and Paul got you.”
“You’re willlin’ to shoot an officer of the law?” Shaye asked.
“Willin’,” Willy said, “if you force our hand.”
“He may not shoot an unarmed man,” someone from the crowd in the saloon said, “but I would.”
Willy, Grant and Bama looked to see who was speaking, but Shaye didn’t have to look. He recognized the voice, even though he hadn’t realized the man was still in the saloon.
“Who the hell are you?” Willy asked. He looked at Shaye. “I thought you didn’t need any deputies.”
“He ain’t a deputy,” Shaye said, “just a guest in town, like you.”
Willy looked at the man again. “I asked you a question, mister. Who’re you and why are you buttin’ in where you don’t belong.”
“Well,” the man said, “I’m buttin’ in because the sheriff looked like he could use some help. See, without me, he’d end up having to kill the three of you.”
“That so?” Willy asked.
“That’s Dan Shaye you’re bad-mouthing, friend. If you don’t know who he is, you ought to.”
“And you ain’t told me who you are, yet.”
“The name’s Kingdom.”
Willy’s eyebrows went up, and both Grant and Bama fidgeted.
“Tate Kingdom?”
“That’s right.”
Willy licked his lips. “We didn’t know you was in town, Mr. Kingdom.”
“Well, you know now.”
“What about it, boys?” Shaye asked. “You gonna put your guns on the bar or not?”
Willy looked away from Tate and at Shaye. “Sure, Sheriff,” he said. “Sure, we’re gonna put
our guns on the bar.”
He and Grant hurriedly took their guns out of their holsters and set them on the bar.
“Lyle,” Shaye said to the bartender, “you mind puttin’ those under your bar? I’ll come and get ’em when I get a chance.”
“Sure thing, Sheriff.” Lyle scooped them off the bar and hid them away.
“Now we’re gonna walk over to the jail and get you boys situated,” Shaye said. He still hadn’t pulled his gun, and when he looked at Kingdom, the gunfighter’s gun was still in his holster. “You comin’?”
“I think you can handle three unarmed men, Sheriff,” Kingdom said, “don’t you? I’ve got an unfinished drink here.”
“Then maybe you can stop over for a talk when you finish that drink,” Shaye said.
“I’ll make a point of it, Sheriff.”
Shaye looked at the three men and said, “Let’s go.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Shaye put the three men into three separate cells.
“How long do you intend to keep us here, Sheriff?” Willy Raines asked.
“I don’t know,” Shaye said. “I guess that’ll depend on how soon Doucette gets here.”
“Who?” Bama asked.
“What’s Cole Doucette got to do with us?” Willy asked.
“You know him?”
“I heard of him,” Raines admitted.
“Well, he’s on his way here,” Shaye said, “and I’ve been expectin’ him to send some advance men into town.”
“And you think that’s us?” Grant asked.
“I’m askin’ if it’s you.”
“If it is,” Raines said, “would we tell you?”
“If you want to get out of these cells,” Shaye said, “ever.”
“You can’t keep us here!” Bama said, gripping the bars of his cell tightly.
Shaye looked at him. “I can make sure you die in these cells.”
“Okay, look,” Raines said, “we’re not workin’ for Cole Doucette. We’re just passin’ through.”
“Are you wanted?” Shaye asked.
“Not here,” Raines said. “Not in Arizona. You have no reason to hold us.”
“You broke a man’s arm,” Shaye said.
“We’ll pay his doctor bill,” Raines said. “And leave town. You won’t ever see us again.”
Shaye turned to leave the cell block.
“Hey!” Raines shouted.
“I’ll let you know what I decide in the mornin’,” Shaye said, closing the cell block door.
“Can we at least get some food?” Grant yelled.
As Shaye turned, the door opened and Tate Kingdom walked in, carrying three gunbelts.
“I thought I’d save you a trip back to the saloon,” he said, dropping the guns on Shaye’s desk.
“Thanks,” Shaye said. He swept the three gunbelts into a desk drawer. “And thanks for your help over there.”
“Well,” Kingdom said, “I couldn’t just stand by and watch you gun those men down.”
“And you were sure that was what would happen?” Shaye asked. “You didn’t think you might be savin’ my life?”
“Well, maybe,” Kingdom said, “but my money would’ve been on you.”
He sat down in front of the desk, while Shaye sat himself down behind it.
“What’d you want to see me about?” Kingdom asked.
“I have an idea,” Shaye said. “These men don’t seem to be workin’ for Doucette, but he is on his way here.”
“With how many men?”
“That I don’t know.”
“And you don’t have any deputies?”
“My sons are my deputies, and they’re . . . away.”
“When do you expect them back?”
“I don’t know,” Shaye said. “When their jobs are done, I suppose.”
“So they’re . . . what? Chasing someone?”
“Yes,” Shaye said, “they’re each tracking a killer.”
“Ah . . .”
“So I could probably use your help again.”
Kingdom kept his hands in his lap and studied Shaye.
“You’re satisfied I’m not working for Doucette, and they’re not working for Doucette?”
“I’m choosin’ to believe that you don’t,” Shaye said. “You don’t strike me as that kind of man.”
“Why?”
“It’s too menial a task for you.”
“For a man of my . . . what? Ego?”
“Reputation.”
Kingdom put his feet up on Shaye’s desk.
“And what about them?”
“Whether they work for him or not, they’re in cells, and tomorrow they’ll be out of town.”
“If they are working for him, they’ll go back and tell what they know.”
“Which is what?” Shaye asked. “They were here five minutes, and then I threw them in a cell.”
“They know about me.”
“But not about my sons,” Shaye said. “As far as Doucette will know, he’ll have to deal with us, and with you.”
“So four against . . . how many.” It wasn’t a question, really.
Shaye decided to confide in Kingdom.
“Doucette is comin’ to kill the mayor.”
“Why?”
“He’s the lawyer who convicted him and put him away.”
“What about the judge who convicted him?”
Shaye shrugged. “Maybe he’ll be next. Or maybe Doucette’s already killed him. My concern is the mayor—actually, it’s the town.”
“So let him kill the mayor, and maybe he’ll leave.”
“I can’t do my job that selectively,” Shaye replied. “I’ve got to watch out for all the people in town.”
“That’s a lot for one man.”
“Well,” Shaye said, “maybe he won’t get here until my sons are back.”
Kingdom dropped his feet to the floor and stood up.
“I guess I’ll be around for a while. Let me know if you need me.”
“I don’t suppose you’d wear a badge?”
Kingdom gave him a look. “What do you think?”
He walked out.
“I didn’t think so,” Shaye said, to himself.
TWENTY-NINE
James decided not to catch up to Candy.
When he realized he could catch him, he had second thoughts. Why not keep tracking him, following him, until he rejoined the Fleming brothers? He was not the tracker his father or brother were, but he was enough of one to know he was a few hours behind the man.
At first he thought the meeting would be happening in Tucson, but when the tracks made it clear that Candy had bypassed the large town, he figured they’d be meeting someplace smaller.
Like, perhaps, Tubac, about fifty miles farther south. Or maybe he was on his way to Mexico.
But even before Tubac, James followed the trail to a gathering of buildings that didn’t look like a town or a ranch. Perhaps a settlement of some kind.
He reined in his horse within sight of the buildings, careful not to be seen. While he watched, several people walked or ran between the buildings, but he never saw Candy or the man’s horse. Behind one of the buildings was a corral with three horses in it, but Candy’s wasn’t one of them.
He finally decided to ride down and have a look. He guided his horse at an easy pace, so as not to spook anybody. As he approached, a woman came out of one of the buildings, which now looked like shacks. She was wearing a long blue dress that covered her from neck to ankles.
“Hello,” he called out.
She waved with one hand. The other hand was out of sight. As he got closer he saw that she didn’t look happy, and he saw something red on her dress. It was a stain, like . . . blood.
Abruptly, she brought her other hand around and pointed a gun at him.
“Need help with that?” he asked, showing her his empty hands. “I’m not here to threaten you in any way.”
“That’s what the other man said,” she replie
d.
“What other man?”
From behind him he heard a man say, “Your friend, who rode through here earlier.”
James turned his head and saw a man holding a rifle pointed at him. He raised his hands a little higher.
“I don’t have a friend out here,” he said, “but I am tracking somebody. A killer.”
“We can believe that,” the man said. “That he’s a killer. Climb off your horse—but first toss your gun down.”
“Now look—”
“Do it!”
James plucked his gun from his holster and dropped it to the ground.
“Now the rifle.”
He tossed the rifle after the pistol.
“Okay, now dismount.”
He did so, slowly.
“Turn around. Face me, not her.”
He looked at the woman, who he now saw was a girl, and a frightened one. Then he turned to face the man. At that moment, the man with the rifle saw the badge.
“Where’s that badge from?”
“Vengeance Creek.”
“I don’t know it.”
“It’s a little northwest of here,” James said. “No reason why you should have heard of it.”
“What are you doin’ out here?” the man asked.
“I told you,” James said, “I’m a deputy, tracking a killer.”
“And how do we know you ain’t a killer carryin’ a badge?” the man asked.
“Well,” James said, “all I’ve got is my word. I can’t offer any more than that.”
“This killer got a name?”
“Cannaday,” James said. “Dan Cannaday, but they call him Candy.”
“He told me to call him Candy, Pa,” the girl said.
“Quiet, girl.”
“I think he’s tellin’ the truth, Pa.”
“Girl, I told you—”
“That man shot my brother, Deputy,” the girl said. “Can you help him?”
“I can try,” James said. “I’ve patched my own brother up a time or two.”
“Glory—” the man said.
“Eddie needs help, Pa!” she said.
The man with the rifle looked to be in his fifties and kept flexing his hands on the rifle nervously.
“Mister,” James said, “just don’t get nervous with that gun, and I’ll see what I can do. I don’t need my guns. You can leave them out here on the ground.”
“I’ll pick ’em up,” the man said. “But yeah, okay, let’s go inside.”
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