PART THREE
"Brother Ezra," Josiah said, reining his horse to a stop. "I have a call to make."
"I will await your arrival with the others." Ezra urged his horse on towards the Equity Bar. Josiah nodded and turned his horse back the way they had come.
He rode easily down the street and came to a stop before the jail. Josiah stepped down from his horse and scanned the street. He reached back to his saddlebags and released the straps. He slipped his gun belt off and placed it in the bag. He withdrew his battered Bible and set it on the saddle, then resecured the straps.
Josiah looked up at the sun and sand-blasted sign above the door. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Lord," he whispered as he looked skyward, "you know better than I the heart of Vin Tanner, my friend. If you could see your way clear," he paused, studying the ground, "I'd be much obliged."
A light breeze sent a swirl of dust dancing along the boardwalk as Josiah climbed the stairs. He paused before the door and knocked twice, then reached for the knob. The door opened and Josiah found himself facing the revolver of a nervous deputy.
"Peace, brother," Josiah said softly. The deputy quickly assessed the big man standing before him. Josiah smiled slightly. "I have come a great distance to minister to the soul of your prisoner."
"You have, have ya?"
"Yes," he replied simply.
"Why this man?" the deputy asked his gun not wavering.
"All God's children, be they good or bad, require guidance in their last hours."
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Larabee strode toward the saloon, followed closely by Buck. He paused in the doorway and scanned the room. Ezra was already present, his attention on a table near the back. Larabee followed his gaze, saw the well dressed man sitting by himself, and stalked across the room.
Thompson looked up. "I wasn't expecting you for at least another week," he said, his tone mildly surprised. Larabee leaned across the table. "Your boys were too eager to kill us," he said in a quiet, dangerous voice. "I should shoot you now, you son of a bitch."
Thompson leaned back and hooked his thumbs in his jacket, opening it wide. "I'm not armed," he said calmly. "If you shoot me, it'll be murder."
"No law against shooting dogs," Buck observed. "Especially a mad one."
For just a brief instant, Thompson lost a bit of his confidence. "They'll hang you right next to Tanner."
A wolfish smile crossed Larabee's features. "I'd be in good company."
Larabee straightened as the batwing doors swung open. Three men with badges -- a sheriff and two deputies came in., The deputies stayed near the door, but the sheriff continued forward until he was standing between Larabee and Thompson, his shotgun pointed negligently toward the black-clad gunman.
"Afternoon," drawled the sheriff in a let's-not-do-anythingyou'll-regret tone. "You boys got business here in town?"
"Just a few rats to kill," Buck volunteered from where he stood next to the bar with a boot resting on the rail.
The sheriff used his shotgun barrel to move Larabee's duster away from his side, revealing the ivory handled Army colt there. "You're packin' a lot of hardware for killing rats."
Larabee never took his eyes off Thompson. "Some rats take more killing than others."
The sheriff stepped back, resting his shotgun across his shoulder. "Guess you haven't heard about the new ordinance, being that you just arrived an' all. No guns in town until after the hanging. You gotta check 'em in at the office."
"What're you afraid of, Sheriff?" asked Buck. "You afraid someone'll try freeing your-prisoner?"
"Nope. Just afraid someone'll lynch him before we can legally hang him."
"Highly unlikely," Ezra muttered under his breath.
"That apply to everyone, Sheriff? Or just strangers?"
"Everyone."
"Wonderful, " moaned Ezra.
Larabee carefully reached for the buckle on his gunbelt. He unbuckled it and held it out to the sheriff. "We'll be back for them later. We won't be staying long."
The sheriff and his deputies collected the gun belts. The sheriff paused in front of Ezra. "I've known enough of your kind. You carrying a hideout?"
From beyond the sheriff's shoulder, the gambler caught the slightest shake of Larabee's head. Ezra held up his left hand in a gesture of warning to the sheriff. "Please don't be alarmed."
With a practiced flick of his wrist, Ezra produced his Derringer sleeve gun. Taking it by the barrel, he held it out to the sheriff. The sheriff accepted the small weapon with an ill-concealed look of distaste.
"You can pick these up when you leave town," he said.
"We'll do that, Sheriff," said Buck.
The sheriff and his deputies left. Larabee gave his full attention to the bounty hunter. "This isn't over," he warned.
"Better hurry," replied EJ., his tone mocking. "This town'll be having a first-class hanging in less than a week."
Larabee smiled wolfishly. "Have a nice day," he said, touching the brim of his black hat. He turned on his heel and strode out of the saloon. The others followed.
Buck paused beside Ezra as they stepped onto the boardwalk, saying in a low whisper, "I thought Chris told you to keep your sleeve gun."
Ezra gave him a look of hurt innocence and placed his fingers on his chest over his heart. "Surely, Mr. Wilmington, you cannot possibly think that was my only available weapon."
They gathered on the porch. Buck put an arm on Larabee's shoulder and said, "Any idea what we're gonna do now we're not welcome in town? I mean. I don't intend on sleeping out under the stars."
Larabee smiled. "I guess you're finally going to get a look at the ladies in Hog Town. You boys collect your guns, then head out there and get us a place to stay. I'm going to see Vin."
Larabee spun on his heel and strode toward the solidly built adobe jail.
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The hammering had begun again just after sunup. Tanner groaned as he shifted on the cot, trying to ignore the fact that the good townsfolk of Tascosa had decided to build the gallows outside his window. It probably didn't matter to them that it was hard enough to face death without all the added stage dressing. Better that death came quick and unexpected.
Tanner finally stood and paced around the small cell, thinking. He discovered he had a new-found sympathy for the men he had brought in in the past. Finally he grew tired of pacing. Sitting on the cot, he leaned against the cool adobe wall and pulled his hat down over his face.
After a while he heard the lock of an outer door click and the jangle of keys. A few moments later, he heard the tread of boots approaching. They stopped in front of the door to his cell. He heard a familiar voice ask, "How you doing?"
Tanner looked up. His eyes were red from lack of sleep, his face drawn. "I feel like a coyote in a trap," he said after a moment.
"And," Larabee prompted.
Tanner gave him a half-hearted smile and replied, "I think I'm too fond of my foot to part with it. Any suggestions?"
"Nothing at the moment," Larabee said, pulling up a stool next to the bars. He sat down and leaned back against the wall. He glanced down the hallway. The outer door remained open and he saw the toe of a boot opposite the door. He'd have been surprised if someone hadn't listened in on their conversation.
Tanner tossed his hat haphazardly onto the foot of the bed and asked, "How are the others?"
"They're holding together pretty well, but Buck's tom up about JD.," Larabee said thoughtfully.
"Tell Buck that Danny had an unfortunate accident, back at the grade in White Rock Canyon on the high trestle and he won't be killing anyone anymore." Tanner said evenly.
Larabee studied his friend. Tanner's words described Danny's death as a tragic accident, but the look in Tanner's eyes and his manner told Chris Danny's death was revenge satisfactorily done. Larabee nodded slightly. "I'll tell him."
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Chris Larabee stood in the comer of the telegraph office, waiting for an answer from Mary. It had been better than an hour. He was getting concerned and wondered if something had happened. His thoughts were interrupted as the telegraph key began to click arid the operator scribbled down the message.
After an exchange of clicks on the wire, the operator stood and looked at the darkly dressed stranger. "Here's your message."
Chris Larabee, Tascosa
Good news. JD. is not. I repeat NOT among the dead.
He's been found. He's hurt badly but will live.
Expect Mary to be there in two days.
Judge O. Travis
The deep lines on his face faded as he read. A genuine smile cracked the stern man's facade as he turned to walk out the door.
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Larabee walked down the narrow corridor that led to Tanner's cell. Each trip he made to visit his friend was harder and harder. They had a plan, a lame one, but it was better than nothing. He had been searched thoroughly, but their secret message wasn't discovered. The deputy had even thumbed through the deck of cards Ezra had sent along. The only thing that made this particular trip easier was he had good news for a change.
"Morning, Chris," Tanner said cheerfully.
If the setting had been different, he'd have thought Tanner was back to his old self. "Morning, Vin. They treating you okay?"
"As good as can be expected," he replied, standing to shake Chris's hand.
"I've got some good news for you."
"Good news, like maybe they've decided it's all a mistake and they're going to let me go?" Tanner said sarcastically.
"Not that good, I'm afraid," Larabee said, pulling up his stool. "JD.'s alive and healing. It seems Danny wasn't as good a shot as he thought he was."
Tanner leaned against the jail wall, relief spreading across his tired features. He took a slow deep breath and said, "That's good to hear. Really good."
Larabee reached into his breast pocket and withdrew the well-worn playing cards Ezra had sent. "A friend of yours said to tell you that if you play with a deck of cards long enough, you can tell the face cards by their weight."
Tanner's brow raised as he accepted the cards. He was sure there was something hidden in the message.
He had the time. He'd figure it out. "Tell him thanks."
"I will," Chris replied.
The two men talked intermittently and played cards between the bars. Sometimes they just sat in companionable silence. The afternoon passed into evening and Tanner's meal arrived. They talked quietly a while longer, then Chris was asked to leave for the evening by the sheriff. The two men shook hands, and Chris departed.
In the dim lamplight, Tanner played with Ezra's cards. It was a while before he discovered that the seven of spades was heavier than all the others. He looked the card over carefully and saw that it was actually two cards cleverly stuck together. Using his thumbnail Tanner carefully separated the cards.
He discovered the card he held was the ace of spades. Written on it in a tiny and delicate hand was an outline of the proposed rescue plans. At the bottom of the card, in the same hand, was the message. "You aren't going anywhere, my friend. You still owe me the interest on the three hundred dollars you borrowed."
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"I can't see why we have to go see Ida Mae Kincaid," Buck grumbled as he stepped up into the saddle.
"And why, pray tell, is that, Mister Wilmington?" asked Ezra from atop of his own horse.
"I can't see how she'd be willing to help save the man who murdered her husband."
"Allegedly murdered her husband," Ezra said, giving Buck a scathing glare. He turned his horse in the direction of the Kincaid farm and started off at an easy trot.
Before the second hour was up, Buck and Ezra reached the top of the rise overlooking the small and weather-beaten Kincaid house. It was a pleasant homestead with a small barn and corral. A full day's wash hung on a line strung from the house to the corral gate.
"The lady of the house must be inside," Ezra commented as they reached the bottom of the gentle slope. "Could be," Buck said, smoothing back his hair and resettling his hat. "I wonder just how old she is?"
The duo never found out as the front door opened just wide enough to allow the passage of a blued double barrel shotgun. "Be off with you!" a creaky voice shouted, followed immediately by a blast from the gun that kicked dirt up just in front of their horses.
"Mrs. Kincaid, please..." But before Ezra could finish, a second blast from the gun interrupted him. His horse reared and fought his control. The gun quickly dropped from sight and was replaced by another one.
Buck calmed his horse long enough to get turned around, saying, "Ezra, I don't think we should be bothering the lady any more today."
"I concur," Ezra said. His horse's front hooves touched the ground. They both raced out of buckshot range and over the hill.
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Mary breathed a sigh of relief as the stage driver shouted, "Tascosa!" She looked over at her traveling companion. The spare and feisty Nettie Wells was seated on the opposite side of the coach, tatting the edge of a white shawl. She deftly tied off the section she had been working on and cut the thread. "Your hand work is so beautiful," Mary commented as she put her own needlepoint into her bag.
"Your handiwork is not shabby by any means, dear."
The coach pulled up in front of the Exchange Hotel, and the coach driver swung down to the ground. He promptly opened the door of the stage and extended a hand to the ladies. "After you," said Nettie, gathering her belongings. "These old bones take a moment to get moving after a long ride like this one."
Mary nodded and stood. Taking the driver's hand, she stepped onto the stair, then to the ground, her dark skirts swishing against her legs. Mary looked up and down the street, orienting herself.
Nettie handed her hand bag to the driver, who slipped the handle over his arm and held out both hands to her. She stood and reached out to take his hands, but he took her by the waist, picked her up, and swung her over to the porch of the hotel, saying, "A lovely young lady like you shouldn't walk."
Laughing, Nettie said to the beefy and rugged driver, "Oh, I'm no young lady, but I thank you for your illusions."
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Ezra couldn't contain a yawn as he made his way through the scattered tables of Hog Town's restaurant. He went directly to the table where Larabee and Buck were seated. The gambler sat down heavily, stifling another yawn.
"The things I do for Mr. Tanner," he moaned.
"Any luck?" asked Larabee.
"Terrible. I've been brutally assaulted twice in pursuit of..." Ezra paused and accepted a cup of coffee from the bored, plain-featured waitress. "Anyway, most of the ladies hereabouts are too... well-endowed for our needs."
"Keep looking."
Buck looked from one man to the other. "What are you two up to?" he demanded.
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Mary paused in her unpacking at the knock on the hotel door. She glanced at Nettie, who picked up her handbag. Mary moved to the door and put her hand on the key. "Who is it?"
"It's Chris," replied a calm, familiar voice.
Mary turned the key and opened the door a few inches. "Chris," she said acknowledging his identity. "Mary," he said, tipping his hat. "Can I come in?"
She opened the door fully and let Larabee into the spacious room. "We just arrived an hour ago. We were going to look you up when we were settled in."
Larabee pushed his hat back to hand from its stampede strings, nodding a greeting to Nettie, who gave him an appraising once-over.
"I'd've thought you'd walk with a limp if you ever took that gun off," she said in greeting.
Mary gave the gunslinger a startled look -- she hadn't noticed the absence of his gunbelt. She briefly remembered him riding out of Four Corners rather than surrender his weapon during the short reign of Marshall Bryce.
Larabee shrugged. "Sheriff Willingham's not letting any guns in town until after the hanging."
Nettie smiled. "It's a good thing I left my old Spencer at home," she declared.
Larabee smiled. "Lady, I don't think you go anywhere unarmed."
She patted her hand bag. "Just because I'm not packing one on my hip doesn't mean I'm defenseless."
"I couldn't convince her to leave it behind," Mary explained.
"Keep it out of sight. We may need it."
"How's Vin doing?" asked Nettie.
"Better since we arrived. And since we found out JD.'s alive." Larabee took the chair Mary offered him. "How is he?"
"He was getting stronger when we left. Nathan and my father-in-law are taking good care of him with Casey's help. Nettie and I felt we should come see if we could help."
"Seven hundred miles is a long ways to come just to offer help."
"You've done the same," she pointed out. "Twice now."
"We can use the help," he admitted finally. He rose and walked to the windows looking onto the plaza. "When we were here before, we found out the murdered man had a widow. Ida Mae Kincaid: No one sees her much anymore. Once a month. someone runs supplies out to her. That's about it"
"You think she may know something?"
"I don't know. We left town before we had a chance to talk to her."
"So you'd like us to go out and see her."
"I figure a woman might be able to get more answers. But be careful. She chased Buck and Ezra off with a shotgun two days ago."
Mary paled slightly. Nettie merely smiled and said,"I can't say as I blame her, running those two gentlemen off. Don't worry. We'll go talk to her first thing in the morning."
Larabee nodded and started for the door. "We've got rooms in Hog Town. It'd be best if you stayed away from there. It's no place for you." He stopped in the doorway and said, "One last thing you should know -- Vin's been framed for a second murder."
Ezra looked up from his lunch as Chris and Buck entered the restaurant. "Good afternoon, gentlemen," he said after tapping his lips with a crisp white napkin.
Chris tossed his hat on the table and pulled out one of the four rail-backed chairs. "Well?"
"As of yet, my quest goes unfulfilled."
"Then why are you sitting here?" Chris asked as he sat down.
Buck studied the others, puzzled by their cryptic conversation. He leaned against the table his hands out flat. "For the second time, I'd like to know just what kind a trouble you two are hatchin'."
Larabee scowled briefly at Buck before he turned his attention back to Ezra, who was carefully cutting a bite of steak. "I, sir, am waiting for the last of our candidates to arrive."
"Candidates?" Buck asked.
After carefully chewing his bite of steak and again patting his lips, Ezra smiled up at Buck, his gold tooth glinting in the afternoon sun. He was about to reply when the waitress arrived with two platters of steaming hot food. She carefully slid one plate down in front of Larabee and waited patiently for Buck to decide which chair-he was going to take. "Sir?" she asked quietly.
"I took the liberty of providing you with a bountiful lunch. Please enjoy the fine cuisine," Ezra told them. "It is likely that I will be unable to provide such again any time soon."
Buck pulled up a chair and sat heavily, hanging his hat off the back of the empty chair next to him. "Candidates?" he prompted as the slight waitress placed his plate before him.
"As I was saying," Ezra started to explain, then paused as if really seeing the slight-framed waitress for the first time. "Miss," he said, standing, "is it true there will be a cotillion this weekend?"
"Yes," she replied hesitantly.
Ezra took a step closer to her. "I am looking for a dance partner for said same and was wondering if you would do me the honors of a short spin around the dance floor?" He extended his hand to her, in a half bow.
She blushed, but obliged him. He swept her into his arms and spun her around. Ezra's opinion of the girl raised as she fell into step with him. She was a natural dancer. Finally he released her gently. "Will you come?"
"I can't. My father wouldn't allow it."
"Such a shame. I am heartbroken. Mayhaps I shall meet him and ask his permission, my lady."
The girl hurried off to the kitchen and Ezra returned to his seat. He picked up his napkin and laid it across his lap. He picked up his knife and fork as Buck asked, "And what was that all about?"
"Gentlemen," Ezra paused dramatically, "our search is at an end, I have just found our candidate."
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Mary drove the buggy along an overgrown road that followed a sparse trickle of water someone had told her was Comanche Creek toward the Kincaid farm. Nettie sat beside her, eying the flat, featureless country with displeasure.
"Have you been to Texas before, Nettie?" asked Mary.
"About fifteen years ago, when my husband and I first came West. Between the Kiowa, Comanches, and Comancheros, we didn't stay for long." She snorted. "I don't know what was worse, the Indians or the lack of trees."
Their conversation faded as the farm came into sight. The house was small and cozy-looking, though badly in need of a new roof. The porch sagged slightly and needed painting. A line of cottonwoods formed a windbreak for both the house and barn. Two draft horses grazed in a pasture beyond the barn, and a black and white cow stood by the fence gate, its mooing a lonely sound. Chickens scattered before them as Mary drove the buggy into the yard.
"Seems awfully quiet," said Nettie.
Mary had to agree. Laundry flapped noisily in the breeze. A wicker basket had blown part-way across the yard to rest against the well. A shirt had fallen from the line and another was hanging from a single clothes pin. Other than the flustered chickens, nothing stirred in the yard.
"Well, let's get this taken care of." Nettie stood up and stepped down from the buggy. She freed the tie rope from the harness and tied the horse to the hitching rail. Mary climbed down as well, straightening her skirt and pushing a stray lock of hair back into place. The two women crossed the yard and stepped onto the porch. Mary rapped her knuckles firmly on the door.
Absolute silence followed. Mary waited a long moment, then knocked again with more force. A tabby cat leapt onto the creaky porch, startling them. The cat stretched and moseyed over to throw itself against Mary's legs, purring loudly. Mary looked over at her companion, but the older woman was studying the yard and pastures.
"Maybe she's gone to a neighbor's," Mary began.
"Been a day, maybe two," Nettie mused as she stepped down off the porch to look around. "Mary," the older woman said softly, "Chris said that she never goes anywhere. Not even for supplies."
Mary joined Nettie on a quick survey of the property. They were returning from the barn when Nettie spotted the corner of a curtain poking through a hole in the window. She stepped up on the porch and noted the wood was covered with glass shards. Without hesitation she opened the door and stepped through.
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EJ. Thompson propped his booted feet on the porch rail and leaned back in his chair, unfolding the Tascosa Pioneer. The newspapers headlines were all about the upcoming hanging and a rehash of the murder and related events since then. The second page had a full story about the murdered man and his now-reclusive wife. There was nothing about her body being discovered.
That suited him just fine. Now no one would know he had murdered Tom Jones.
"You sent for me, boss?"
EJ. glanced to his left. The dual old black eyes above the misshapen lump of his broken nose gave Clyde a frightening appearance. He stood beside the porch, rolling a cigarette and appearing to have no other concerns.
EJ. turned a page of the newspaper. "The hanging's set for tomorrow," he said, not looking up. "I don't want anything interfering with it. Kill Mr. Tanner's friends."
Clyde expression didn't change. "With pleasure," he promised.
Thompson smiled as Clyde walked away. That suited him, too.
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Buck's boots thudded loudly on the hard-packed dirt floor as he strode toward the table near the back of the tent serving as Hog Town's one saloon. Larabee and the bored bartender were the only ones present. The bartender didn't even look up as Buck made his way to the black-dressed man's table. Larabee's expression was grim, and there wasn't much whiskey left in the bottle in front of him.
Buck pulled out an empty chair and spun it around so he could straddle it backwards. "You know, it's not too late to change our minds," he said. "I mean, we could always ride in, shoot everybody, and ride out again."
Larabee's lips twitched in a smile. "Thought about it. But someone innocent could get hurt."
"Like Vin?"
Larabee pushed his full shot glass toward him. "You never were good at waiting. Have a drink."
Buck accepted the offering, tossing it down easily. He sighed in appreciation and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then continued his tirade.
"'Sides, Chris, you should have had me measuring those ladies for fit. It's something I'd'a enjoyed."
"You never would have made it past the first one." Larabee stood up. "I'm going to see Vin."
Buck followed him out of the tent into the afternoon sunlight. Larabee paused to light his cigar, turning slightly to protect the match from a stiff breeze. That move saved his life as a bullet tore into the tent inches from his head.
Larabee dove to one side, drawing his revolver and searching for the shooter. Buck flinched as a second bullet struck the tent near him. Larabee fired a quick shot toward a rifle barrel he saw protruding around the corner of the flat-roofed barn across the street. The weapon drew back hastily, but more shots were coming from elsewhere.
Buck located the second gunmn on the roof of the livery stable. "Chris!" he yelled, firing twice toward the barn. "There's' one on the roof!"
Larabee dove behind the dubious protection of the water trough. Buck was right beside him, snapping quick shots toward the barn. He quickly reloaded while Larabee gave cover fire.
"Nice little situation you got us into here, Chris."
Larabee's response was drowned out by more shots from their opponents. The bullets smacked into the side of the trough and the dirt around them. Larabee fired his last two shots, then began reloading. Buck aimed around the edge of the trough and fired again.
A gun boomed loudly behind them and to the left. Both men twisted around, bringing their guns to bear, just in time to see a man fall to the ground. The shotgun at his side proved his intentions hadn't been friendly. Josiah looked around the corner and winked.
A wild flurry of gunfire erupted from the barn area, none directed at the water trough. Larabee and Buck rose as Ezra emerged from the stable.
"We guessed you needed a hand," Ezra explained.
"You guessed right," said Buck.
Larabee walked purposefully to the man Josiah had shot and turned the body over with the toe of his boot. Josiah's bullet had struck the man just above the bridge of his badly broken nose. Larabee pulled the revolver from the man's belt and strode toward a horse tied nearby.
"Chris, where you going? Chris!"
Buck's question went unanswered as Larabee mounted the skittish horse and spurred it to a gallop. Josiah said, "I don't think I'd care to be in Mr. Thompson's shoes right now."
Buck turned toward the stable, 'We'd better make sure he doesn't get himself killed."
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Larabee brought his borrowed horse to a rump-scraping halt in front of the Equity Bar and dropped from the saddle, leaving the animal ground tied. He stalked through the batwing doors into the cool, dark interior. He pushed past the patrons until he reached Thompson.
"All right, you sent your boys after us, and they didn't get the job done," growled Larabee. He ignored the shuffle of the people hastily getting out of the way. "Now I'm calling you out."
Thompson carefully raised his hands. "I'm still not packing a gun."
"That's not gonna save you this time."
The bartender gestured at a man near the door. "Go get the sheriff."
"You move and I'll shoot you, too," warned Larabee. "He'll be here soon enough." He held up the revolver he had taken from the dead gunman, spun the cylinder, and fired a round into the floor. Then he tossed the weapon on the table in front of the killer. "There's your gun."
EJ. stared at the pistol, a .38 caliber Colt Ughtning. The weapon Clyde had preferred. Thompson licked suddenly dry lips as he stared into Larabee's hard eyes.
Larabee straightened. "You'd better be wearing a gun when you step out on the street, because I'm going to kill you whether you are or not."
He turned and strode toward the doors. He saw the alarm in the people near him and spun to one side, drawing his own revolver. Thompson's bullet tore through the sleeve of his duster. Larabee's two shots drove Thompson backwards.
Absolute silence followed the echo of the last shot. Larabee walked forward, his gun at the ready. Thompson lay tangled in the broken fragments of his chair. Blood soaked the front of his fancy shirt and bubbled from his mouth with each gasping breath.
"Now it's over," Larabee declared.
A sickly smile crossed Thompson's lips. "Not... yet..."