“Ponci must’ve taken some of it,” Dagen said.
“Maybe, but don’t forget, Fargo had some too. We ought to go back in and see how much he has,” Casey suggested.
“You want it, you can go in and get it,” Dagen said, picking up his share of the money. “I doubt he has a hundred dollars on him, and for me, it ain’t worth goin’ back into that stink for no more’n thirty dollars, which is about what we would each get.”
“Yeah,” Casey said as he stuck the money inside his shirt. “Yeah, that’s what I think too. So, where do we go now?”
“Anywhere we want to go,” Dagen said. “We don’t even have to stay together no more if we don’t want to.”
“Yeah,” Monroe said. “But till we get back to town it might be better if we stayed together.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’ve heard talk of some renegade Indians. I don’t want to run into any all by myself.”
“Monroe’s right,” Casey said. “I say we stay together till we get back to Sassabi Flat.”
Dagen shook his head. “We can’t go back there.”
“Why not?” Monroe asked. “They got whiskey, whores, and food there.”
“Fargo killed one of the whores, remember? And he killed the bartender too.”
“Oh, yeah,” Casey said. “Damn, where can we go?”
“How about Providence Wells?” Dagen suggested. “They got whiskey, whores, and food there too. And there ain’t none of us ever been there, so there won’t be nobody there that know us.”
“Yeah, good idea,” Casey said.
The three men mounted. Then Casey looked over at Fargo’s horse.
“What about Fargo’s horse? Should we take him with us?” Casey asked.
“Why?” asked Dagen.
“We can sell ’im.”
“We got enough money, we don’t need to be bothered with tryin’ to sell no damn horse.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be right just to leave him here,” Casey said.
Dagen pulled his pistol and shot Fargo’s horse in the head. The animal dropped without a sound.
“Son of a bitch!” Casey shouted in surprise.
“Now it won’t bother him to stay here,” Dagen said. “Let’s go.”
Falcon saw the vultures first, from at least a mile away. Then, as he drew closer, he saw a large brown form on the ground, and knew that it was a horse.
It looked as if one of the horses had gone down, leaving the outlaws with four men and three horses. Although he felt bad about the horse, he knew it would slow the men down somewhat and make it easier for him to track them.
Something didn’t look quite right when Falcon finally reached the horse. He couldn’t put his finger on what was bothering him ... maybe it was just intuition. Whatever it was, Falcon decided it was worth a closer look, so he dismounted, then walked over to examine the horse. Kneeling beside it, he ran his hand across the legs of the horse, but he couldn’t find any sign of a broken bone.
“What happened here?” he asked aloud. “If you didn’t go down on them, why would they shoot you and leave themselves one horse short?”
Falcon lifted the head, then let it drop. There was still some flexibility in the animal, so it hadn’t been dead long.
Sighing, Falcon stood up, then removed his hat and ran his hand through his hair. Looking around, he saw a set of saddlebags lying open near a boulder. Looking back at the dead horse, he saw the horse had its own saddlebags.
Falcon walked over for a closer look at the saddlebags near the boulder, and when he stuck his hand down inside, he pulled out a little paper band, the kind of paper band that is wrapped around stacks of money. He read the printing on the band.
$100
WESTERN EXPRESS COMPANY
Looking around the area, Falcon saw the opening to a cave. Pulling his pistol, he moved up to one side of the opening, then cautiously looked inside.
That was when he became aware of two things: the overwhelming stench coming from inside the cave, and the fact that Fargo Ford was lying dead on the floor of the cave.
Holstering his pistol, Falcon pulled his knife and went into the cave.
“Two down and three to go,” he said aloud. “You men just keep killing each other off. That makes my job real easy.”
It was after dark when Falcon got to Providence Wells. Dismounting in front of the saloon, he walked along all the horses that were tied to the hitching rail, then saw one that he had seen before. It was one of the horses Pete Tucker had been holding during the botched holdup attempt back in Calabasas. That meant that the men he was looking for were here.
Going inside the saloon, Falcon looked around, but didn’t see anyone he recognized.
“Yes, sir, what will it be?” the bartender asked.
“A beer,” Falcon said. He decided against asking for any specific information, believing he could find out more just by being quiet and observing.
