by Robert Knott
“How’d it happen?” I said.
“Early this morning,” Hawkins said. “Strode woke up, whispered ‘water.’”
“His first words!” Holly said.
“Davy got close to Strode,” Hawkins said. “Strode snatched Davy’s Colt.”
“Strode did that!” Holly said. “Can you believe it?”
“Anybody else have a hand in this?” I said.
“No,” Hawkins said. “Don’t seem like it.”
“He told Davy to rip up bedding, of all things,” Holly said. “And tie up Dr. Mayfair and Danny.”
Hawkins nodded.
“Told Davy to tie up his own feet,” Hawkins said. “Goddamn man. And lay facedown with his hands behind his back. Strode snugged Davy’s hands.”
“Gagged them, too,” Holly said. “And left the three of them in the closet. Can you believe it?”
“We found them when we got there,” Hawkins said.
“Any idea where he is?” Virgil said. “Anybody see him?”
“Don’t know nothing yet,” Hawkins said.
“With one exception,” Holly said. “We know he’s gone—that much we do know.”
“He stole the Rangfield brothers’ horses,” Hawkins said.
“Indeed he did,” Holly said. “His crimes are mounting—first the bank, now this hostage saga, horse thievery. Lord knows what’s next.”
“Anybody see him?” I said.
“Don’t know,” Hawkins said. “Not found that out yet, anyway.”
“No telling where he is,” Holly said.
“We already got Davy and Danny on other mounts,” Hawkins said. “I gathered some of the deputy boys, and they’re asking around, looking for Strode or anybody that’s seen him.”
When we got to Doc Mayfair’s, the doctor was sitting out front on the steps, smoking a cigarette.
“Gents,” Mayfair said, looking up at us.
For the moment that was it; that was the total of what the doctor had to say.
“I gave them the whole of it, Doc,” Hawkins said.
Mayfair nodded, slowly smoking the cigarette.
“Strode say anything?” I said.
Mayfair shook his head.
“No,” he said.
Virgil nodded a little, then looked around as if he were looking for something.
“How long?” Virgil said.
Mayfair clinched his cigarette between his teeth, leaned back slightly, pulled his watch from his vest, and opened it.
“He’s been gone for about six hours,” Mayfair said.
Mayfair closed the lid on the watch and slid it back into his pocket, then flicked his cigarette into the street.
“He’s weak,” Mayfair said. “There’s one thing for certain. He’s not moving too fast.”
Virgil looked to Hawkins.
“He take anything,” Virgil said.
“He did,” Mayfair said. “He took some supplies, morphine, bandages, a shaded pair of syphilis spectacles.”
“Like to get over to Strode’s place,” Virgil said. “Have us a look around.”
“Sure thing,” Hawkins said.
“Anything else you can tell us?” I said to Mayfair.
“No,” Mayfair said quietly as he rolled a cigarette.
26
Virgil, Hawkins, and I rode out to Henry and Catherine Strode’s place on the edge of town. As we neared, Hawkins pointed.
“That’s it there,” he said.
“Let’s pull up,” Virgil said.
We stopped maybe a hundred yards from the house.
“Let’s be on the smart side of doin’,” Virgil said.
“You don’t think he’s dumb enough to have come back here, do you, Cole,” Hawkins said.
“Don’t,” Virgil said. “But let’s just take ’er easy anyway.”
We tied our horses to a solid hackberry tree in front of a small home and walked on up the road to Strode’s place.
Virgil did not want to take any chances, and not knowing what to expect, we readied ourselves with our pistols when we got close to the house.
Strode’s place was a quality-built home with a white picket fence surrounding the property and a well-kept garden.
“Go on around back, Everett,” Virgil said quietly.
I nodded and continued on.
Virgil and Hawkins entered through the front gate and stopped as I walked around the outside of the fence to the rear of the house. I looked back to Virgil. He nodded, and they started toward the front door.
The back door was unlocked, and I entered the house just as Virgil and Hawkins entered from the front.
The front door was visible from the back door. Virgil and Hawkins stopped and listened. I did the same.
“Strode?” I called out as I looked to Virgil and Hawkins.
The three of us stood silently for a moment, but there was no reply, no sounds. I walked the narrow hall to Virgil and Hawkins.
The house was a two-story structure with fine furniture. The downstairs area was a loop of connecting rooms surrounding a staircase to the second floor. We walked around the first floor through the living area and into the kitchen. Virgil was looking at nothing and everything. In the kitchen there was a polished stepback hutch with glass-covered doors, and behind the doors there were stacks of glazed plates and saucers. There was an open can of peaches sitting on the counter with a spoon resting in it. The can was empty. We walked through the dining room. The doors of a liquor cabinet were open, and with the exception of a single bottle of plum brandy, the cabinet was empty. There was a vase with wilted flowers sitting on the dinner table. Two glass candleholders sat on opposite sides of the vase. They were covered with hardened wax that had dripped and pooled in folds spreading out on the tabletop. Virgil continued on up the stairs and Hawkins and I followed. Upstairs consisted of two bedrooms and a small powder room with a fancy vanity. Both of the beds were made up. In the larger bedroom, Virgil opened the doors of a carved-wood armoire that was divided by narrow shelves. On one side of the shelves hung Strode’s suits, and on the other side there was a good number of frilly dresses.
Virgil stood there looking at the clothes. He looked through the drawers, and they were full of dressing pieces, scarves, ties, and ribbons.
Virgil turned, walked to a window, and pushed back the lace curtain to have a look out.
“There been anybody else here?” Virgil said. “Since the robbery?”
“No,” Hawkins said.
“Nobody touch nothing?” Virgil said.
“No,” Hawkins said. “Everything seems pretty much like it was when I came here before. This was, of course, the first place I looked.”
“What about the peaches?” Virgil said.
“Peaches?” Hawkins said.
“You eat those peaches,” Virgil said. “The open can on the counter?”
“No,” Hawkins said. “Why?”
Virgil looked out the window for a moment before he looked back to Hawkins and me.
“Strode didn’t have everything to do with this robbery,” Virgil said. “Fact, he might not have had a hand in it at all.”
Hawkins looked to Virgil, then looked to me.
“What makes you think that?” Hawkins said.
Virgil turned from the window.
“Somebody made him do it,” Virgil said.
“What?” Hawkins said.
“Somebody was here,” Virgil said.
“Who?” Hawkins said.
Virgil shrugged and shook his head some.
“Don’t know.”
“That table downstairs is a nice table,” Virgil said.
Hawkins looked at me, then back to Virgil.
“It is a nice hardwood,” Virgil said. “Cherry, I believe.”
&nb
sp; Hawkins squinted like he was trying to see Virgil clearly.
“Cherrywood? What are you getting at, Cole?”
“It’s never had wax on it,” Virgil said. “Ever.”
Hawkins looked back and forth between Virgil and me.
“The can of peaches,” Virgil said, shaking his head.
“The peaches?” Hawkins said. “What about them?”
“Someone else ate those peaches,” Virgil said.
Hawkins removed his hat and scratched his head.
“Someone let the candles burn to the quick,” Virgil said.
Virgil looked at me.
I nodded.
“Sounds right,” I said.
“Does,” Virgil said. “This home is full of proper, proper for everything. Those clothes are all well tailored and taken care of—everything in this house is. Got bottoms for glasses to protect the tables and fancy dishes to eat peaches from.”
Virgil looked back out the window, thinking.
“Don’t think Catherine,” Virgil said, “or Henry Strode would eat peaches from a can.”
27
It was now late in the afternoon. The news of the bank robbery and the subsequent disappearance of Strode had spread across the city of San Cristóbal. We joined Hawkins and his team of deputies and searched the town for any sign of Strode or anyone that might have seen him but came up with nothing. Hawkins instructed the Rangfield brothers and four other deputies to continue the hunt as Virgil, Hawkins, and I gathered in front of the sheriff’s office, where Constable Holly stood on the porch.
“He’s not out there?” Holly said.
“Goddamn ghost,” Hawkins said.
“Hard to believe he’s gone,” Holly said. “And not a single person has seen him?”
“No. Goddamn ghost,” Hawkins said again. “What the hell now, Cole?”
Virgil sat his horse, looking down the street toward the lowering sun.
“Everett?”
“Be dark soon,” I said.
“Too late to get started with a posse,” Hawkins said.
Virgil nodded a bit.
“Nobody seeing him,” Hawkins said, “be goddamn hard to know where, or even which way to go.”
“Someone,” Holly said, “somewhere, surely has seen him.”
“You’d think,” Hawkins said.
“Hurt like he is,” Holly said, “it would certainly seem so.”
“At some point,” Hawkins said, “he’ll die, right?”
“My Lord,” Holly said. “My Lord.”
Virgil continued looking west.
“We got four roads in and out,” Hawkins said.
Hawkins pointed west.
“He goes that way, he’s got those mountains to contend with,” Hawkins said.
Hawkins looked back over his shoulder to the east.
“Hell,” Hawkins said. “He’s got mountains that way, too.”
“No matter,” Virgil said. “He’s going the direction he needs to go.”
“The direction he needs to go?” Holly said.
“Yep,” Virgil said.
Hawkins bit on the edge of his mustache, thinking, as he looked at Virgil.
“What’s the closest town south?” Virgil said.
“Elk City,” Hawkins said. “Fifteen miles.”
“North?” Virgil said.
“Rushing Springs,” Holly said. “That’s twenty-five miles. There is, of course, various homes, farms, ranches, and a few businesses on the way to both Elk City and Rushing Springs.”
Hawkins nodded.
“So,” Hawkins said. “If he didn’t do this, why is he running?”
“He ain’t running,” Virgil said.
Hawkins looked at Virgil for a moment.
“He’s not, is he?” Hawkins said.
“No,” Virgil said.
“He’s on the hunt,” Hawkins said.
“He is,” Virgil said.
“The hunt?” Holly said. “I’m confused.”
Hawkins looked in the direction Virgil was looking, toward the setting sun, then looked to Holly.
“He’s going after whoever whipped the hell out of him,” Hawkins said flatly to Holly.
“Yep,” I said. “And whoever let the candles burn down to the quick on the cherrywood table.”
“And whoever ate the goddamn peaches,” Hawkins said.
“Peaches?” Holly said.
Virgil nodded.
“That’s right,” Virgil said. “Whoever ate the peaches, and whoever run off with his wife.”
28
As soon as we got Constable Holly apprised of what we believed to be the circumstances regarding the disappearance of Henry Strode and the robbery, Davy and Danny Rangfield rounded the corner on their mounts and pulled up to a stop where Virgil, Hawkins, and I sat our horses.
“Hey, Marshal,” Danny said. “Deputy.”
“Boys,” Virgil said.
Davy stayed back behind Danny some. I don’t think he liked the idea that Strode had snatched his Colt away, tied him up, and left him in a broom closet.
“Find anything?” Hawkins said.
“No,” Danny said. “Not really.”
“What do you mean, ‘not really’?”
“Old man Letts said he heard some horses this morning before dark,” Danny said.
“But you know old man Letts,” Davy grumbled.
“Yeah,” Danny agreed. “He’d say anything just so to hear himself talk.”
“We stopped at Wolfgang’s store and all the houses that way,” Davy said. “Nothing.”
Hawkins circled his bay in the street.
“Let me go talk to Letts,” Hawkins said.
“Fair enough,” Danny said.
Danny and Davy turned to follow. Hawkins looked to Virgil.
“We’ll keep looking, Cole, checking out what we can. Least till we’re dark-bit.”
Hawkins clucked Blisters and moved on up the street, followed by the Rangfield brothers.
“Constable Holly?” Virgil said.
“Yes, Marshal?” Holly said.
“What kind of telegraph records do you keep here in Cristóbal?” Virgil said.
“Well,” Holly said. “We run an efficient office. Why?”
“How far back would you have records of telegrams sent?” Virgil said.
“A few years, I think,” Holly said. “But I’m not certain. They get rid of them after a while. I’m uncertain as to the last removal. What do you need?”
“I want you to check the months before the shootout Alejandro had with those fellas just before Christmas,” Virgil said. “Check and see if there is any record of Alejandro sending a telegram to anyone.”
“Alejandro?” Holly said with a befuddled look on his face.
Virgil looked at me and shrugged some.
I nodded.
“Yes,” Virgil said to Holly. “Alejandro.”
“Telegraph sent to who?” Holly said.
“Don’t know,” Virgil said. “That’s what I aim to find out.”
Holly looked back and forth between the two of us.
“Does this have to do with Alejandro wanting to talk to you?” Holly said.
“You’ll check for me?” Virgil said, politely ignoring Holly’s question.
“Well, well, certainly,” Holly said. “Might take some time sorting through, but I suppose it can be done.”
“Good,” Virgil said.
“Let us know what you find, Constable,” I said.
“I assume this is imminent?”
Virgil looked at me.
“You bet,” I said to Holly. “It’s pronto.”
Holly nodded.
“Indeed,” Holly said with a little grin. “Like
it were yesterday.”
“Or the day before,” Virgil said without a smile.
“Or the day before,” Holly said with a nervous chuckle. “Yes, well, okay, then.”
With that, Holly smiled slightly, turned, and moved on up the boardwalk. We watched him walk a ways.
“Worth a try,” I said.
“Is.”
“You’re thinking if what Alejandro said is correct, he’d have to have contacted the brother somehow.”
“That’d be my thinking.”
“Unless Alejandro and the brother were together.”
“Yep,” Virgil said.
“Or if the brother was close to here.”
“Providing there even is a brother,” Virgil said.
“True,” I said. “Alejandro might be, and most likely is, just bullshitting us about the brother?”
“Don’t know,” Virgil said. “But he seems convicted to convince us he does.”
“A way outta jail.”
“Is.”
“Let’s say he does know and Holly don’t find a telegram,” I said. “What then?”
“Don’t know.”
29
After sundown, Hawkins found Virgil and me on the porch of the Holly Hotel. We sat at the same table underneath the sconce swarming with moths, mosquitos, and bugs of June. Virgil had an after-dinner cigar going, and the smoke lingered over the table in the hot and muggy evening air. Virgil pushed out a chair with his boot as Hawkins trudged slowly up the steps to the porch.
“Get yourself a seat, Webb.”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
Hawkins dropped in the chair like he was done for the day.
“Nothing?” I said.
“Nope,” Hawkins said, shaking his head gradually.
I stepped inside and got a glass for Hawkins and poured him a whiskey.
“Fucking tired,” Hawkins said as he pulled his shoulders back, trying to get something inside his big body to crack.
Virgil blew out a roll of smoke that twisted and swirled in the light.
“That all?” Virgil said.
“No. My ass is sore, too.”
Virgil grinned a little.
“Blisters give you some blisters?” Virgil said.