Chapter 4 – The Missing Piece?

Bret and Bart were sitting in the saloon, as isolated from any occupied table as they could get. Each nursed a cup of coffee and a head spinning full of details they never expected to know, including the most absurd one of all . . . a man they'd yet to meet had announced his intention to kill them.

"We need to find out what this Hansboro looks like," Bret insisted.

"We'll do that. I just needed some peace and quiet, and Pappy wasn't gonna quit talkin' anytime soon. Sounds like this guy has really got him shook up," Bart pointed out.

"I don't know that it's Hansboro so much as it's what he's threatenin' to do. And it didn't sound like Pappy doubted him, either."

Bart nodded as he drank more coffee. "I noticed that, too. So this is a serious threat, and not just some outlaw blowin' smoke."

"Think about it, Bart. Pappy wouldn't have told us if it wasn't serious." They were less than two years apart in age, but Bret had always been more responsible than his brother. A lot of that came from Bret's 'Big Brother' status; he'd grown up faster because he had to.

"So what do we do now?"

Bret shook his head. "I don't know, little brother. I just don't know."

From across the saloon they were being watched by the very man that had threatened their lives. They looked his way several times but gave no sign of recognition – maybe Beauregard hadn't told them about him. He had an advantage right now – he knew exactly what Maverick's sons looked like, but they didn't know who he was. Maybe he shouldn't have discussed his plans for revenge so openly – after all, he'd been waiting almost twenty years. Yet when he saw the man he'd plotted against, he could wait no longer, and he revealed his real intent – to eliminate the sons rather than the father.

It was all so clear at that moment . . . he was sure it would be much more painful for the man that had cost him his future to lose his boys rather than his own life. After all, if it hadn't been for Beauregard he probably would have gone back to that young lady who waited so patiently for him in Houston, and had kids of his own by now. Instead he'd sat in a prison cell for ten years, and then spent more years trying to make a living while he worked his way back to that dump the Mavericks called home.

His attention was drawn back across the room when the two young men he'd been watching got up to leave. He couldn't get over how much the oldest boy – Bret – looked like his father. There was a resemblance between the two sons, but the younger one must have favored his mother. Still, you knew when you saw him that you were looking at a Maverick.

Vic swirled the whiskey in his glass before drinking it dry. Now where were they going? Across the room and out the door, they turned right and headed up the street. To another saloon? Not likely. The marshal's office? Why? What good would it do them to report the threat he'd made? Besides, nobody'd heard him other than Beauregard, and that made it simply Beau's word against his.

Vic got up from the table he was occupying and followed them out. When he got to the batwing doors he paused and looked up and down the street, but they were nowhere to be seen. If they'd gone to the marshal's they'd still be walking.

"See anybody yet?" Bart asked from inside the tobacco store.

"Yeah, one man at the doors of the saloon. Shorter than Pappy, looks older, too. Grayin' hair, wears a mustache. Just took a step outside, lookin' up the street this way. Wearin' a blue shirt with a black vest – clothes are old lookin' and worn out. Black gun belt, two gun rig. Now he's goin' back inside. That's gotta be him, Bart. Let's wait a few minutes and go check with Pappy."

"Or Uncle Ben. He doesn't seem to be as involved with all this revenge business."

"Sounded like Hansboro laid most of the blame on Pappy," Bret stated as he ducked his head back into the tobacco store.

"Yeah . . . he's gonna kill both of us but he ain't decided about Beau yet. I hafta agree with you. But why?"

"Pappy was the one grievin'. Guess Vic figures if not for that, there'da been no trip to Dallas."

Bart nodded but was still perplexed. "We're missin' somethin' here, Bret. There's a piece of this whole thing that somebody ain't told us."

"C'mon. Let's go see what we can find out." They left the store carefully and headed back down to the hotel to talk to Ben – or Pappy.

XXXXXXXX

"Yeah, that's him," Ben confirmed. "So he's watchin' you. I still think we oughta go see the marshal."

Bret shook his head. "Pappy's right, John Law won't do nothin' on say-so. 'Cept be mad that he's got one more lunatic with a gun to look out for." Bart stood up and headed for the door. "Where you goin', little brother?"

"Down to see where Hansboro's stayin'. Don't seem right he knows where we are, but we don't know where he is."

Bart hadn't been gone two or three minutes when Beauregard returned to the room, with his youngest son following him. "He ain't stayin' at this hotel," Bart informed them.

"No, he's not. He's down the street at the Abilene Royal Hotel. That's who I was out lookin' for. And I don't wanna see either of you out by yourself from now on."

"Pappy . . . "

"Pa . . . "

"No excuses. We gotta protect each other till we get this figured out. Ben, go send that wire to Lily Mae. Tell her to stay in Louisiana until she hears from one of us." Beau removed his hat and set it on the dresser, then turned back to his sons. "I checked you boys outta your room. I'm havin' your belongin's moved up here. It'll be tight, but I think we'll be better off if we're together."

"Why don't we just go home, Pappy?" It seemed like a reasonable question to Bret.

"Your uncle and me considered it, but I think we're safer here. At least for the time being."

"Pappy . . . "

"Yes, Bartley?"

"It seems to me and Bret there's somethin' missin' here. Somethin' you ain't told us, maybe? Some other reason for Hansboro's hate?"

Ben and Beauregard exchanged glances; it seemed there was something missing to them too, but neither one of them could think of anything. "Don't know what it could be. We was always on good terms with Vic. As for Tyler . . . dead men don't hold no grudge."

"Does Hansboro blame you for Wilkes death?"

Beau thought back over the tale Vic had told him. 'Yep. Yep, he does. But I don't think . . . they was never that close a friends."

"Then there's somethin' he ain't told you. Somethin' he blames you and you alone for. A woman maybe? Did Vic have a woman?"

Twenty years old and the first thing his mind went to was a woman. What was Beau gonna do with his youngest son? "None that I know of."

"What happened to the money?" Bret asked next.

"I . . . I don't know. I just assumed . . . that the posse recovered it."

"How much did they get?"

"Close to twenty thousand dollars, I heard tell," Ben answered. "We weren't in court for the whole trial, just the parts where they wanted us to testify. So maybe . . . maybe nobody ever found the money. But how could Vic think we had it? We never saw him nor Tyler after they got caught. We were halfway home by the time the posse caught up with us."

"Only one way to find out, Pappy. Marshal's office in Dallas would still have it on record as missin', wouldn't they?"

Beau nodded. "They should. Ben . . . "

"I know. Wire the Dallas Marshal's office when I wire Lily Mae. In the meantime . . . "

"I'll send a message to Vic. Let's see if I can convince the old dog that I've got what he really wants . . ."