“But they have people being held as slaves in there, or so I’m told.”
“Yeah, that’s right. But some of them would just as soon turn you in as look at you, for favor’s sake. You know what I mean?”
Smoke knew. It sickened him, but he knew. “How many you figure are in there, Slim? Or do you have any way of knowing that?”
“Ain’t no way of really tellin’ ’til you git in there,” Slim said. “Them outlaws come and go so much. Might be as many as three hundred. Might be as low as fifty. But that’s just the real bad ones, Smoke. That ain’t countin’ the shop owners and clerks and whores and sich. Like the minister.”
“Minister! Wait a minute. We’ll get back to him. What about the clerks and shop owners and those types of people?”
“What about them? Oh, I get you. Don’t concern yourself with them. They’re just as bad, in their own way, as them that ride out, robbin’ and killin’. The clerks and shopkeepers are all on the run for crimes they done. There ain’t no decent people in that town. Let me tell you something, boy: When a baby is borned to them shady gals in there, they either kill it outright or tote it into the closest town and toss it in the street.”
Smoke grimaced in disgust. “I can’t understand why this town hasn’t attracted more attention.”
“It has, boy! But lak I done tole you, can’t no legal thing be done ’cause no decent person that goes in there ever comes out. Now, I hear tell there’s a federal marshal over to Trinidad that might be convinced to git a posse together if somebody would go in and clear a path for them. His name’s Wilde.”
Smoke made a mental note of that. “Tell me about this so-called minister in Dead River.”
“Name is Tustin. And he’s a real college-educated minister, too. Got him a church and all that goes with it.”
“But you said there wasn’t any decent people in the town!”
“There ain’t, boy. Tustin is on the run jist lak all the rest. Killed his wife and kids back east somewheres. He’s also a horse thief, a bank robber, and a whoremonger. But he still claims to be a Christian. Damndest thing I ever did hear of.”
“And he has a church and preaches?”
“Damn shore does. And don’t go to sleep durin’ his sermons, neither. If you do, he’ll shoot you!”
Smoke leaned back in his chair and stared at Slim. “You’re really serious!”
“You bet your boots I am. You git in that place, Smoke, and you’re gonna see sights like the which you ain’t never seen.”
“And you’ve never been in there?”
“Hell, no!”
Smoke rose from his chair to walk around the table a few times, stretching his legs. “It’s time to put an end to Dead River.”
“Way past time, boy.”
“You think my wife was attacked just because of a twenty-year-old hate this Davidson has for Preacher?”
“I’d bet on it. Davidson lay right over there in that corner,” he pointed, “and swore he’d get Preacher and anyone else who was a friend of hisn. That’s why them outlaws is so hard on Injuns. ’Specially the Utes. Preacher was adopted into the Ute tribe, you know.”
Smoke nodded. “Yeah. So was I.”
“All the more reason for him to hate you. Law and order is closin’ in on the West, Smoke. And,” he sighed, “I reckon, for the most part, that’s a good thing. Them lak that scum that’s over to Dead River don’t have that many more places to run to…and it’s time to wipe that rattler’s nest out. Sam Bass was killed ’bout two years ago. Billy the Kid’s ’bout run out his string, so I hear. John Wesley Hardin is in jail down in Texas. The law is hot on the trail of the James gang. Bill Longley was hanged a couple of years back. The list is just gettin’ longer and longer of so- called bad men that finally got they due. You know what I mean, Smoke?”
“Yes. And I can add some to the list you just named. You heard about Clay Allison?”
“Different stories about how he died. You know the truth of it?”
“Louis Longmont told me that Clay got drunk and fell out of his wagon back in ’77. A wheel ran over his head and killed him.”
Slim laughed and refilled their coffee cups. “I hear Curly Bill is goin’ ’round talkin’ bad about the Earp boys. He don’t close that mouth, he’s gonna join that list, too, and you can believe that.”
Smoke sipped his coffee. “Three hundred bad ones,” he said softly. “Looks like I just may have bitten off more than I can chew up and spit out.”
“That’s one of the few things you’ve said about this adventure of yourn that makes any sense, boy.”
Smoke smiled at the old man. “But don’t mean I’m gonna give it up, Slim.”
“I’s afeared you’d say that. Boy, I don’t lak that grin on your face. Now, what the hell have you got up that sleeve of yourn?”
“Where is the nearest wire office, Slim?”
“Trinidad. It’s a real big city. Near’bouts three thousand people in there. All jammed up lak apples in a crate. Gives me the willies.”
“That U.S. Marshal might be in town.”
“Could be. I know he comes and goes out of there a whole lot. What’s on your mind, boy?”
