Even what he had to tell her later could not dim the radiance in her eyes, although they filled with tears as he said, 'Jen, I've got to leave you tonight, on business that won't wait.' Again he had the peculiar feeling of foreboding that he had experienced at the cemetery. 'Don't wait up for me; I may be late.'
She shook her head. 'I'd rather wait. Can you tell me where…'
'No, I'd rather you didn't know… until it's all over. Just don't worry. You know I'll be back the instant I can.'
'All right. Just come back. Even if something happens, I'll have had more happiness than most women.' She kissed him and was smiling as he left the room. And it was not until she saw him leave the yard, followed by Josh, Curly and Ringo, that the tears came.
Josh had trouble getting the money from Burch. Not that Kirby's account wouldn't cover it, or that the bank was insolvent. It was merely that there were so few demands for that kind of cash, even during the height of the buying season.
'Burch had to do some scurryin' around,' Josh said. 'Reckon we've got the biggest clutch of cash on the range tonight. It's a good thing Burch got some big bills, or you'd need a carpetbag to carry it.'
'Hope you told him to keep his lip buttoned.' Kirby frowned. 'Another thing: we better take the old trail and give Streeter a wide berth. Sure as we started through town, Lon would spot us, and I don't want anyone busting up this play, right or wrong.'
Josh studied his saddlehorn. 'I've been studyin' ever since you told me. I can see how you hope to get everything over at one whack. But I can also see how it would be real easy for you to stop a slug. Can't say I like it.'
'Scares me some, too,' Kirby answered. 'What worries me most is that you or one of the boys might get in the way of a chunk of lead. Reckon I should have made this play alone.'
His foreman snarled, 'I used to smack you good for sayin' things like that. You know it'll take all of us if there's real trouble. Wish we had brought a couple more boys.'
'How do Curly and Ringo feel about it? They think I'm off my rocker?'
'They're a couple of boys to ride the river with. They'll back your play as long as either one of 'em can lift his six-gun.'
Kirby's reply was grave. 'Sure hope I'm doing the right thing and don't lead 'em into a blind canyon.'
The sky was beginning to take on the blazing colors of sunset as they skirted Streeter. Several miles out they swung across country to hit the main trail to Galeyville. Their faces and their horses' coats gleamed with unearthly color as the crimson and gold in the sky was reflected from low-hanging clouds and bathed everything in an eerie light.
'Looks to me like there's weather making,' Curly said once when the trail widened and they were riding four abreast. 'We've had it too good. Somethin' is bound to bust loose before long.'
'Shouldn't wonder,' Kirby agreed. 'Looks like we might have a storm before morning. Hope we're back indoors before it breaks.'
'Something else,' Ringo put in. 'If we have to make a run for it, there's going to be some mighty slippery footing for a getaway. 'Course it hasn't rained yet.'
'It will,' predicted Josh, who was seldom wrong about the weather.
The night was pitch black when they picked up the lights of Galeyville from afar. An occasional flash of lightning limned the scudding clouds, and they could hear the far-off rumble of thunder. As they got closer to town, Kirby again had a vague sense of dread, the premonition of something wrong that had troubled him since the day of Bill's funeral. He shrugged his shoulders in a physical effort to shake off his gloom and pulled his horse down to a walk as he spilled tobacco into paper and built a smoke. He felt surprise that his hands weren't shaking.
The lightning was brighter, the thunder nearer when they hit town. Josh growled, 'One good thing about a night like this. Won't be many folks ridin'.'
The Wagon crew jogged the full length of the main street before reaching their destination. They dismounted at the hitchrack before the Last Chance Saloon. No one loosened his cinch. When they left there would be no time to waste tightening latigos. It was entirely possible that they would have to fling themselves in leather and ride for their lives.
The Last Chance was also the last building on the main street, which was precisely why it had been built there. It was a false-fronted structure with shuttered windows high over the sidewalk, from which only a gleam of light escaped.
The boards of the sidewalk, however, held a pool of yellow from the bright kerosene lamps which shone above and below the batwings. They pushed open the swinging doors and went in two abreast, Kirby and Josh, and hard on their heels Curly and Ringo.
There were only two punchers standing at the bar, which extended the full length of one side of the saloon. On the opposite side of the room from the bar, the space was crowded by green baize-topped tables, a half-dozen chairs at each. Four men playing desultory poker sat at one of the tables, like spiders lying in wait for flies, thought Kirby. They were the men for whom he had come looking.
Although they only glanced up from their game at the noise of the newcomers' entrance, Kirby knew instantly that they recognized him… knew that the men with him were his crew. In the brief glance he permitted himself to take in their direction he read surprise in the eyes of the big, florid-faced man who sat facing the door. He returned Kirby's brief glance; then his own gaze fell to the cards he was dealing.
The Wagon crew stepped to the bar, and the proprietor moved toward them from the other end.
'Howdy, gents,' he said, and looked them over. When his eyes fell on Kirby, his mouth dropped open and he took a step backward. His look went to the too intent poker players and then back again to Kirby. He made a valiant effort to recover his professional manner. 'What'll it be?' he asked.
Josh answered for them. 'The bottle you keep under the bar.'
The barkeep essayed a weak grin. He set four glasses before them, then bent to get a bottle kept out of sight.
'The best,' he said. 'Drink hearty.' Kirby, downing his drink, realized that the man was looking at someone over his shoulder… at his back. The hair prickled on the back of his neck, and chill laid icy cold ripples along his spine. But he was ready for the voice when it came.
'Pardon me for butting in like this, but I'm wondering if I'm seeing things. Know a man looks like you!'
Kirby nodded in cold agreement. 'Expect you're talking about my brother… my twin brother.'
The florid face smiled… or rather the facial muscles were contorted in what was meant to be a smile. His eyes, cold and hard as agate, didn't lose their watchful wariness. Far back in their depths was something else. Was it the beginning of fear? Kirby wondered. Surely this man wasn't afraid of anything.
'Where is Bill? Haven't seen him around for several days.' His voice was as thin and as cold as his eyes.
Kirby stared at him, anger beginning to light little red danger lamps in the back of his eyes.
'Your name King?' he asked brusquely.
The big man nodded. 'That's what they call me.'
Kirby didn't take his eyes from King's face. 'Then let's stop beating around the bush. You know darn well where Bill is… where Hub Dawes and his bunch are.'
'I don't quite get your meaning, friend,' King answered, with a quick glance at the poker table.
'The devil you don't.' Kirby checked his anger by sheer willpower. He felt his gorge rise at the necessity of standing so close to this man who had murdered his brother and ached to bury his fingers in the fat red neck.
He knew that trouble was beginning. He heard Josh as his foreman slid along the bar behind his back and stood between him and the poker table. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Curly and Ringo separate. Curly gave the bartender his attention, and Ringo had the two strangers under his regard.
'You here to make trouble?' King demanded, his agate-hard eyes beginning to glitter. 'Might be you came to the right place.'
'I'll meet trouble when it comes,' Kirby told him. 'You thinkin' of startin' something? Make your play.'
King regarded him stonily but said nothing. Kirby felt the man's puzzlement.
'I came here on business, King,' he went on. 'Maybe this business and trouble are one and the same. Depends. I want the papers you're holding on Lazy B; the mortgage you had Hub Dawes rig for you.'
