Vengeance Creek

“That’s right.”

“Sheriff,” one of the deputies said, “they’re both dead.”

“That one killed that one,” James said, pointing, “and I killed him.”

“Who are they?” the sheriff asked.

“Can we get him to a doctor, please?” James asked.

The sheriff relented and said to the deputy, “All right, Hal, take him over to the doc.”

“You don’t want me to stay—”

“Just walk him to the doc’s.”

“Yes, sir.”

As the deputy bent over to help Colon up, the sheriff said, “And take his gun!”

“Yes, sir.”

The lawman turned his attention back to James. “You know these two?”

“The one in front of the hotel is probably Simon Jacks.”

“Jacks?”

“You know him?”

“I’ve heard of him. And the other one?”

“I don’t know him.”

“Then why did you kill him?”

James took a deep breath. “I didn’t kill him,” he said, “I killed Jacks—if it is Jacks.”

“You’re not sure?”

“No, I’m not.”

“But you killed him anyway.”

“He shot my…my partner.”

“Sheriff?” It was the other deputy.

“Yeah, Ted.”

“That one by the door, his gun was empty.”

“It wasn’t empty,” James said, “he just fired all his shots.”

“That means it was empty,” the sheriff said.

“I didn’t know that when I fired back.”

“Ted, get some men to help get these fellas off the street,” Dean said. “I’m gonna take the…the deputy here over to the office. See if anybody knows who they are.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ask the desk clerk,” Dean said. “Maybe one of them is a registered guest.”

“I can’t do that, Sheriff.”

“Why not?”

“Uh, the clerk’s dead.”

Sheriff Dean looked at James.

“Don’t look at me,” James said. “I didn’t kill him. I never went inside.”

“Okay,” the sheriff said, “okay, just get the bodies off the street, Ted.”

“Yes, Sheriff.”

“All right, Deputy,” Dean said. “Walk ahead of me and we’ll finish discussing this in my office.”

64

James stared out from between the bars of his cell in disbelief. The sheriff had tossed his badge— his badge—into a desk drawer and deposited him in a cell.

“Once I’ve verified with the sheriff of Vengeance Creek that you’re who you say you are, I’ll let you out and give you back your badge. Until then…what would you like for dinner?”

“Sheriff,” James said, “this is ridiculous. It could take days to get an answer—”

“Didn’t you tell me the sheriff was your pa?”

“That’s right, but—”

“Then he should respond to my telegraph message real quick, don’t ya think?”

“Sheriff, do you have any kids?”

“No,” the man said. “My wife died before we could have kids, and I never remarried. Fifty-five years old and all I got is my job.”

James didn’t want to start discussing the sheriff’s life with him. “And I’m sure you do a fine job…do you have any brothers?” James asked hopefully.

“No,” Dean said, “never had no brothers or sisters.”

This wasn’t going to be easy, but James knew he had to try anyway.

“Sheriff, my brother is gonna have to face Ben Cardwell and whatever crew he gathers together alone if I don’t get out of here and back on the trail.”

“You’ll be out as soon as I get my reply,” Dean said. “Not before.”

“Did you at least identify the two dead men?”

“Yeah, we did,” Dean said. “The one you killed registered as Simon Jacks. I know who he is, and he wasn’t wanted in this state. The other man resembles a poster I got on a fella called Bart Durant.”

“I don’t know that name.”

“He was wanted here and in New Mexico, but since you didn’t kill him, you don’t get any reward, and the man who did kill him is already dead.”

So Sheriff Dean was probably going to claim the reward on the dead outlaw. But James didn’t care about that at the moment.

“Did you check Jacks’s room?”

“We did,” Dean said. “We found an empty set of saddlebags under his bed.”

“Empty?”

“That’s right. Steak okay for you for dinner? They do a great steak over at the cafe—”

“Sonofabitch.”

“What?”

“Cardwell,” James said. “I’ll bet that sonofabitch set these two men against each other so he could ride off with the entire haul from the Vengeance Creek bank.”

“That could be,” Dean said, rubbing his strong jaw. “Ain’t no honor among thieves, ya know.”

“Sheriff, look,” James said, pleading, “we’re both lawmen, how about some professional courtesy—”

“I’ll give you all the professional courtesy you want,” Dean said, “once I’m sure you’re who you say you are.”

“What about my friend?”

“He took a bullet in the shoulder,” Dean said. “Doc’s patchin’ him up, but he ain’t goin’ nowhere soon. In fact, I may just put him in that cell next to you.”

“What did he do?” James asked. “Besides get shot?”

“He rode in with you, and I don’t know who you or he is,” Dean said. “Until I do, I think I’ll just keep the both of you where I can keep an eye on you.”

“Sheriff,” James said, “if anythin’ happens to my brother, you’re gonna have to answer not only to me, but to my pa—”

“Steak, I think,” Dean said. “I’ll get you and your friend steak for dinner.”

“Sheriff!” James shouted, but the man left the cell block and closed the door behind him.

James could only hope that his father would respond to Sheriff Dean’s telegraph message as soon as he got it. Good thing his pa had stayed behind.

Dan Shaye rode up on some men working on a fence, and they all turned to look up at him. It wasn’t that hot, but he was sweating heavily. His wound had started to bleed a few miles back, or maybe more.

“Afternoon,” he said.