“I reckon you would need about a nickel to get enough, huh?”
“Yeah,” the boy said, “I guess so.”
“Well, it just so happens,” McCall said, digging into his pocket, “that I have a nickel here.”
The boy looked up this time and stared at the nickel.
“If you can tell me where the livery stable is,” McCall said, “this shiny nickel is yours.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh boy!” the boy exclaimed. “Mister, the stable is down the end of the street and to the right. Ya can’t miss it!”
“I can’t, huh?”
“Nope.”
“Okay, here’s your nickel.” McCall handed the coin to the boy. “Don’t eat all that candy at one time, you’ll end up with a bellyache.”
“No, sir!”
The boy snatched the nickel and ran into the store.
McCall laughed, mounted up, and rode down toward the end of the street.
Sheriff Keller walked over to the telegraph office and found Wexler sitting at his key.
“Clyde.”
Wexler looked up at Keller and read the look on the lawman’s face.
“No.”
“Yes,” Keller said, “he’s here.”
“Jesus,” Wexler said, “I can’t, Sheriff.”
“It’s your job, Clyde.”
“You give it to him,” Wexler said, “you’re the sheriff.”
“You’re the telegraph operator.”
“I don’t know where he’s stayin’.”
“He’s not stayin’ anywhere, yet.”
“Then how am I supposed to know where to take the telegram?”
Keller glared at Wexler.
“I have Bob Collins watching him,” Keller said. “He’ll tell me where McCall is stayin’, and I’ll tell you, and then you deliver the telegram.”
“If I give him that telegram,” Wexler said, “he’ll kill me.”
“You give him that telegram and he’ll leave Corozon,”
Keller said.
“And then you won’t have to deal with him.” Wexler’s tone was accusing.
“And then none of us will have to deal with him, Clyde.”
“Except me.”
“Well,” Keller said, “that’ll make you a goddamned hero, won’t it.”
Wexler opened his mouth to respond, then stopped short as Keller’s words hit him.
“Yeah,” he said, “I guess it would.”
McCall found the livery with no trouble. He lifted his saddlebags, bedroll, and rifle from the saddle and handed the animal over to the liveryman.
“How much?”
“A d-dollar,” the man said, “uh, in advance.”
“In advance,” McCall said, and started to shift his saddle-bags from his right hand to his left so he could dig into his pocket for the money.
The liveryman, an old timer named Jesse Dean, misread the move and thought that Sam McCall was going for his gun.
“Or not in advance!” he said, quickly. “W-whatever you want, Mr. McCall.”
McCall frowned and said, “Hey, old-timer, if you want your money in advance, that’s what you’ll get.”
He dug the dollar out and handed it to the man, who accepted it with a shaking hand.
“What the hell is wrong with this town?” Sam McCall asked.
“Huh? Oh, nothin’,” the man said, “Nothin’. It’s a nice town.”
“Well, it sure hasn’t shown me that yet. Where’s the nearest hotel?”
“Three blocks, back the way you come. Only hotel we got.”
“Thanks.”
“S-sure, Mr. McCall, sure thing.”
McCall carried his bedroll and saddlebags in his left hand, and shifted the rifle to his right. If every-damn-body in town knew who he was, he’d better have a gun in his right hand and be ready for trouble.
“He’s here,” Del Butler said.
Simon Weeks looked up from his table in the White Horse Saloon. In front of him was a drink, and he picked it up and downed it.
“Where is he?”
“He just left the livery and went to the hotel.”
Weeks stood up. He was tall and rangy, dark-haired, in his late thirties. He and Butler had arrived in Corozon sixdays ago, and had found it a sleepy little town. They had intended to leave until they heard the news that Sam McCall was on his way there, so they decided to wait.
It was the longest two days in Simon Weeks’ life, but now the wait was over.
“Let’s go.”
McCall had seen the deputy as soon as he left the livery, and he was aware that the man followed him to the hotel. He had no problem with that.
The desk clerk, a foppish man in his early thirties with a carefully tended mustache, exhibited the same nervousness that the liveryman had.
“A room, please.”
“C-certainly, Mr. McCall.”
The man reached for the key to a room, dropped it, picked it up, and then dropped it again. He looked up at McCall from his position crouched behind the desk, laughed nervously, then grabbed the key and held it tightly, standing up.
“Here you go, sir.”
“How much?”
“Uh, th-three dollars a day…if that’s not too much.”
“No, that’s fine,” McCall said. “You want that in advance?”
“Uh, well, it is hotel policy…but if you’d rather pay when you leave—”
“Never mind,” McCall said, “I’ll pay now—here.” He dropped the money on the desk.
“Will you be staying just the one day?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s, uh…too, uh…bad…”
“Yeah, ain’t it!”
McCall took his key and gear and climbed the steps to the second floor. The whole damned town was sojumpy he probably should have ridden out right then and there to avoid trouble, but he was too drag-ass tired to do that.
He stopped halfway up the steps and called out to the clerk.
“Hey!”
The clerk jumped and said, “Yes, sir.”
“There’s a deputy outside, he followed me from the livery.”
“Yes, sir, that would be B-Bob Collins.”
“Yeah, well you ask Mr. Deputy Collins to come up to my room for a minute. Tell him I’d like to talk to him.”
“Up to your, uh, room?”
