He uncorked the bottle, lifted it to his lips, and took several big swallows. The rotgut burned its way down to his stomach, where it started a fire.
“Goddamn!” he said, lowering the bottle, his eyes watering. “That was good. So was them beans.”
He stoppered the bottle and passed it back to Wilson.
“Now,” he said, “tell me about Belinda.”
“Aw, Jeb,” Ben said, “why you wanna bother with her—”
“You know where she is, don’t you?” Jeb asked. “Ben, you’re supposed to know where she is.”
“We know where she is, Jeb,” Wilson said.
“And the kid?” Jeb asked. “She’s got the kid?”
“She’s got ’im,” Ben said.
“Him? It’s a boy, right?”
“It’s a boy.”
“What’d she name him?”
“We don’t know that,” Ben said.
“That’s okay,” Jeb said. “We’ll find out.”
“How we gonna do that, Jeb?” Ben asked.
“Easy,” Jeb said. “We’re gonna ask her.”
Later, when Ben and Dave Roberts were asleep, Jeb and Clark Wilson sat around the fire together.
“We’re sure glad you’re out, Jeb,” Wilson said.
“You been givin’ Ben a hard time, Clark?” Jeb asked.
“No,” Wilson said. “We did like you wanted, made him think he was in charge, but Jeb…he was always makin’ the wrong decision, ya know?”
“I know, Clark,” Jeb said, “but I knew I could count on you to keep him from gettin’ killed.”
“Believe me, there were times we all almost got killed.”
“Well, things’ll change now that I’m out.”
“Maybe we can make some money?”
“We’re gonna make plenty of money.”
“You been makin’ plans while you was inside?”
“Plenty of plans.”
“What’re we gonna hit first? A bank? A train?”
“First,” Jeb said, “we’re gonna go and see Belinda.”
Wilson shook his head. “Jeb.”
“This is somethin’ I gotta do, Clark,” Jeb said. “Where is she?”
“A town called Pearl River Junction,” Wilson said, “in Texas.”
“So that’s where we’re headed,” Jeb said. “Pearl River Junction.”
Wilson poured himself another cup of coffee and leaned back.
“What?”
“We need money, Jeb,” Wilson said. “We’re broke.”
“Broke?”
“All we got,” Wilson said, “is what you got in your pocket.”
Which wasn’t much. They’d given him a few coins when he left Yuma and the clothes he’d been wearing when he first arrived.
“Okay, Clark,” Jeb said. “Okay. Does Pearl River Junction have a bank?”
“It does.”
“Then we’ll kill two birds with one stone,” Jeb said. “We’ll go there and see Belinda and we’ll hit the bank.”
“That’s okay,” Wilson said, “but we’re gonna need some money to get there.”
“Clark,” Jeb asked. “you got somethin’ in mind, don’t ya?”
“Yep,” Wilson said, “I got somethin’ in mind.”
“Okay, then,” Jeb said, “pour me some more coffee and tell me what you got.”
14
By the time Dan, Thomas, and James Shaye rode into Pearl River Junction, it had been almost four months since the letter had been sent from Belinda Davis.
Pearl River Junction was a good-sized town, one that was still growing. As they rode down the main street, the Shayes could see that many of the buildings were newly erected. In fact, they could still smell the new wood that had been used to build them. In the center of town was a new two-story building built of brick that was the town’s City Hall.
The streets were bustling with traffic at midday: horses and buckboards in the street and a lot of pedestrian traffic on the boardwalks.
“Looks like a lively town,” James said.
“Yeah,” Dan said, “the kind that harvests trouble.”
Thomas remained silent, but his eyes took in everything. He noticed that he, his father, and his brother were attracting some curious looks, most notably from a group of men in front of one of the saloons and from a deputy as they rode past the new brick sheriff’s office, which was right next to City Hall.
“Pa…”
“I see ’em, Thomas.”
“See who?” James asked, looking around.
“Lawman, givin’ us the eye,” Thomas said.
“So what? We ain’t doin’ anything wrong.”
“We’re strangers,” Shaye said. “That’s enough to make people curious. Wait a minute.”
Thomas and James reined in their horses while Shaye turned his horse and rode over to where the deputy was standing, watching them.
“Hello, Deputy.”
“Howdy,” the young badge toter said. “Just passin’ through?”
“Actually, no,” Shaye said. “We’re looking for a livery that’ll take our horses for a few days.”
“All the way to the end of the street, then go left, not right,” the deputy said. “You’ll see it.”
“Thanks.”
“When you’re done, come by the office,” the man added. “The sheriff’s gonna want to talk to you.”
“We’ll do it,” Shaye said. “Thanks.”
He turned his horse and rode back to his sons.
“He didn’t ask many questions,” he told them. “I guess he’s going to leave that to his boss. Come on, we’ll take care of the horses and then talk to the sheriff.”
“We’re not gonna get a hotel first?” James asked.
“After,” Shaye said.
“Why are we so eager to report to the local law?” James asked.
“Sheriff might be able to tell us where to find Belinda Davis,” Shaye said. “Besides, it’s better than having him come looking for us.”
They found the livery with no problem and arranged for their mounts to be taken care of. That done they grabbed their rifles and saddlebags and walked back to the sheriff’s office. Walking together, the Shayes continued to attract attention from the citizens on the boardwalks.
Dan Shaye knocked on the door to the sheriff’s office and then walked in. A wooden shingle next to the door said: SHERIFF RILEY COTTON.
When they walked in Shaye was immediately struck by the fact that the office had two stories. Glancing up, he saw that the cell block was on the second level. Downstairs was filled with furniture—several desks—the sheriff’s and, presumably, one each for two or more deputies to share. There were also chairs, filing cabinets, a
