'They've got Jacob. Eileen said you need him for something and that you'd want to get him back. That true?'
'Yes.'
'Then I need your help.'
Kanazuchi nodded. The man uncocked the hammer but did not lower the rifle.
'Where is he?' asked Kanazuchi.
'That big adobe.'
'We must get him out.'
'That's what I was hoping you'd say. Looking for this?'
The man tossed the Grass Cutter toward him; Kanazuchi caught the scabbard and pulled the sword in one blindingly fast move. The man's grip on the rifle didn't flinch.
'My name's Frank,' said the man.
'Kanazuchi,' he said, with a slight bow.
'Kana ... that mean anything in English?'
'It means hammer.'
'Well, what do you say, Hammer,' said Frank, finally lowering the gun. 'Let's go raise a little hell.'
Kanazuchi stood aside as Frank climbed out of the wagon. They looked at each other warily, a perceived sense of professional kinship and common cause delicately balancing the scales against powerful self-preserving instincts. Each waited for the other to make a first move; then, like dance partners, both turned and walked in step toward the stable.
'Took my sidearm when I rode in but they left the rifle with my saddle gear. They didn't look for the one in my boot,' said Frank, touching the butt of the spare Colt in his holster.
'Mistake.'
'This town's sicker than a bag of drowned kittens.'
'It is like a clock; wound up, running down.'
'Getting sloppy,' said Frank, nodding. 'You feel it, too.'
'Yes.'
'This freak show's coming to a head,' said Frank.
'Remove the head, the body will fall.'
'Now there's something I know you're good at.'
'Sorry?'
'That's sort of a joke, Hammer.'
Kanazuchi thought for a moment, then nodded. 'I see.'
They stopped just short of leaving the alley at the edge of Main Street. Ghostly laughter followed by applause drifted toward them from the theater, then faded to an eerie silence. Lights burned in windows on both floors of the House of Hope; they could see at least six of the guards in black patrolling its broad front porch.
Frank struck a match on the side of the barn and lit a cheroot. 'Figure this Reverend A. Glorious Day's the one we want,' said Frank.
'Twelve men guard the house; only three in back,' said Kanazuchi, watching their movements.
'Move around much?'
Kanazuchi nodded. 'They change every hour.'
Frank glanced at his watch. 'Had a notion about how we might get inside.'
Frank explained as they crossed Main Street. Kanazuchi agreed. They turned down an alley and approached the back door of the House of Hope.
Three guards sitting on the porch armed with Winchesters and Colts. Frank walked five steps ahead, hands over his head; Kanazuchi behind him—Frank's pistol in his belt, the Grass Cutter out of sight down the back of his shirt—pointing the Henry rifle between Frank's shoulders.
The guards stood up. They wore loose black clothes; their eyes clear and alert. Not the same group of men, but their manner reminded Frank of the ones he'd seen ride up to the House earlier that day.
'I found this man walking in the stable,' said Kanazuchi.
'I already told you, you stupid slant-eyed son of a bitch,' said Frank, staggering and slurring his words, 'wanted to make sure they were taking care of my horse—'
'Be quiet,' said the lead guard.
'He had the colic few weeks back, can't be too careful; those damn kids weren't even tending to—'
Kanazuchi smacked the back of his head with the rifle butt; Frank stumbled and fell forward on the stairs.
'He told you be quiet,' said Kanazuchi.
All three guards looked down at Frank curiously, rifles lowered. Frank curled his hands near his stomach and moaned as if he was about to be sick.
'He's one of the visitors,' one of them said.
'Yes. He has been drinking,' said Kanazuchi.
'Take him to corrections,' said the lead guard.
Two of the guards reached down to grab Frank by the arms just as he slipped Kanazuchi's long knife out of his shirt; as they stood him up Frank drove his shoulder into the chest of the lead guard, knocking him back hard into a column, then grabbed him around the face and plunged the knife in behind the man's left ear. He died without making a sound.
From behind, Frank heard two sounds like a rush of rainwater; when he turned, the bodies of the other two guards were falling to the porch and their heads were rolling down the stairs. Kanazuchi's sword was already resting back in the scabbard.
Damn. This guy knew his stuff.
Kanazuchi tossed Frank his rifle; Frank cocked it one-handed, then exchanged the long knife for his pistol. Kanazuchi slid the
'Didn't have to hit me so hard,' whispered Frank.
'More authentic.'
'Glad I wasn't playing dead.'
No one came; none of the guards from the front had been alerted by the skirmish. Frank tried the door; it opened.
Dim lamps lit the interior hallway. Thick carpets muffled their steps. Plush furnishings throughout the house, oil paintings on the walls, a crystal chandelier hanging over the stairs in the front entryway. Not a spittoon in sight. Fancier than a St. Louis whorehouse.
They heard a raised voice in a parlor to their left, crept up on its partially open sliding doors. Inside, four more of the black shirt elite being jawed at by an obvious superior, a tall, blond fella with a foreign accent; the same bunch Frank had seen arrive that afternoon.
'... the wire says they got off the train in Prescott and left on horseback this afternoon. Look for them on the eastern road. Five men, one woman. They should be carrying a book with them. Let them ride through; take them when they pass the gate. The Reverend won't release our money to us until he has that book. Go.'
The four men started for the sliding doors; Kanazuchi and Frank slipped across the hall into a dark room as the men moved off toward the front of the house.
'Not you, Mr. Scruggs.'
One of the four, a baby-faced man carrying a briefcase, stopped obediently; the blond man put an arm around his shoulder and walked him toward the door.
'You stay with me,' said the tall one.
Frank and Kanazuchi waited until they heard the front door close before stepping back into the hall. Through curtains they could see the guards patrolling the front porch. Keeping one hand on the pommel of his sword, Kanazuchi nodded toward the stairs; Frank acknowledged and they went up; stopped on the landing when they heard the creak of a floorboard above.
A black shirt came into view, looking down over the balustrade to the entrance hall below.
Kanazuchi whipped his arm forward and the handle of his knife appeared in the guard's throat; he slumped to
