wanted to see me.”
“Did you recover the bodies?” Matt asked.
“All four of them. With their hats, just like you said.”
“Are they still in the buckboard?”
“Yeah. I tell you the truth, Matt, I don’t know why we’re goin’ to all the trouble. If it was up to me, I’d let ’em just lie out there and rot.”
“Have you had your supper?”
“Not yet.”
“Have the cook make you a sandwich, then bring it with you. You can eat it on the way into town.”
“We’re actually going to do it, aren’t we? We’re takin’ these bastards into to town to the undertaker.”
“Something like that,” Matt said.
Clay Sherman was staying in the room that had belonged to Mr. Pemberton, taking it because it was better furnished than any of the other hotel rooms. This room had, in addition to the bed and a comfortable chair, a small kitchen table and kitchen chair. At the moment, Sherman was sitting at the kitchen table in the soft, golden glow of the lantern, figuring his profit on the back of an envelope.
Marcus Kincaid had paid him ten thousand dollars to make certain Kitty Wellington did not get her horses to market in time to save her ranch. But Kincaid had made no reference of any kind as to the disposition of the horses. He hadn’t mentioned them because he was certain that once the ranch came into his possession, then everything on the ranch would also be his, including all the horses.
Sherman hadn’t mentioned the horses either, because he had his own plans for them. Poke had already made an arrangement to move the horses at fifty dollars a head, though he had told everyone but Sherman that he was only getting twenty-five dollars a head.
Fifty dollars a head for five hundred horses was twenty-five thousand dollars. That twenty-five thousand dollars, plus the ten thousand he was getting from Kincaid, would make this, by far, the most profitable business arrangement he had ever entered in to.
Smiling, Sherman drew a circle around the figure, thirty-five thousand dollars, then he folded the envelope and stuck it down in his pocket. Glancing toward the window, he saw that it had grown very dark outside and, since he had not yet had his supper, he decided he would have it now. Sherman extinguished the lantern, then stepped out into the hallway and started down the stairs.
The wall sconces in the lobby had not yet been lit, so it seemed darker than usual. The only lantern providing any light was sitting on the front desk.
“Hey, hotel clerk,” he called as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “Why ain’t you lit the wall sconces yet?”
Sherman did not get a reply.”
“Reinhardt, where the hell are you?” Sherman called again.
Of course, when one thought about it, there was really no reason for the clerk to be at his desk at all. The Auxiliary Peace Officers’ Posse occupied every room but one, and nobody was likely to occupy that one, remaining room.
Sherman stepped up to the front desk, and banged his hand down on the call bell.
“Reinhardt?”
He didn’t care whether the hotel had any new guests or not. As far as he was concerned, the clerk should still be at work, if for no other reason than to provide services for Sherman and his men. And one of the things he should do, was light the sconce lights in the lobby. A man in Sherman’s position couldn’t help but make enemies, and dark lobbies were places that a man with enemies should avoid, when possible.
“Never mind,” Sherman grumbled. “I’ll light the lanterns myself.”
Reaching over the desk, Sherman found a box of matches, then he turned and started out into the lobby.
That was when he saw them.
Four of his men were sitting in chairs in the lobby. Their chairs were arranged in a square, as if the four were engaged in a friendly game of cards. But there were no cards, and there was no card table. There were just the four men, setting in a square, looking at each other.
“What are you men doing here, just sitting in the dark?” he asked with a little chuckle. “Did they run you out of the saloon?”
When not one of the four answered, he started over toward them. “You men aren’t very—uhnn!” he shouted, and he jumped back as the hair suddenly stood up on the back of his neck. All four men were dead!
After he caught his breath, he moved close enough to identify them. The four men were Garrison, Edwards, Reid, and Kennison. These were the same four men he had left to guard the horses.
“Scraggs!” Sherman yelled at the top of his lungs. He ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
“Scraggs!” he yelled again. “Grimes! Schneider! Anderson? Anybody?”
Nobody answered his calls, and he moved down the hallway, opening every door and looking inside. Then, deciding they must all be over at the saloon, he ran back downstairs and trotted up the street to the saloon.
Celebrating the fact that they had taken the five hundred horses without any problems, the posse members were quite animated tonight. As a result, the saloon was more lively, the piano was playing, and the men of the posse were laughing and engaging in loud conversation. However, their presence still seemed to intimidate the rest of the town though, because there were very few in the saloon, other than his men.
“Scraggs, damn it!” Sherman shouted as soon as he stepped into the saloon. “What the hell happened?”
