Emmett walked his mount down the left side of the narrow main street with the rest of us strung out behind. When he veered over to a hitchrack about halfway down the second block, we veered with him and tied up, straggled along before two store fronts.
Em stepped up on the boardwalk and moved leisurely toward the Senate House hotel almost at the end of the block. He stopped as he crossed the alley next to the hotel and nodded to Lloyd Cohane, then bent his head toward the alley and moved it in a half-circle over his big shoulders. Lloyd moved off down the alley toward the back of the hotel.
'Go on with him, Ned,' Em whispered. 'Stick near the kitchen door and if anybody but the cook comes out shoot his pants off.'
Ned moved off after Lloyd, both carrying carbines. Em looked at Gosh and me, but didn't say anything. He just looked and that meant we were with him and supposed to back up anything he did. Then he turned toward the hotel and slipped his revolver out in the motion.
Gosh moved right after him and pointed the barrel of his Winchester out in front of him.
Two idlers sitting in front of the hotel stared at us trying to make out they weren't staring, and as soon as we passed them I heard their chairs scrape and their footsteps hurrying down the boards. A man across the street pushed through the saloon doors without even putting his hands out. A rider slowed up in front of the hotel as if about to turn in and then he kicked his mount into a trot down the street.
In the hotel lobby you could still hear the horse clopping down the street and it made the lobby seem even more quiet and comfortable, feeling the coolness inside and picturing the horse on the dusty street.
But there was the clerk with his mouth open watching Emmett walk toward the cafe entrance, his spurs chinging with each step.
It seemed like, for a show like this, everything was moving too fast.
The next thing, we were in the cafe part and Jack Ryan and Joe Anthony and the other man were looking at us like they couldn't believe their eyes.
None of them moved. Jack's jaw was open with a mouthful of beef, his eyes almost as wide open as his mouth. The other man had a taco in his fingers raised halfway to his mouth and he just held it there. Didn't move it up or down. Joe Anthony's right hand was around a glass of something yellow like mescal. His left hand was below the level of the table. The three of them had their hats on, pushed back, and they looked dirty and tired.
Jack chewed and swallowed hard and then he smiled. 'Damn, Em, you must have flown!'
The other man looked at us one at a time slowly, then shrugged his shoulders and said, 'What the hell,' and shoved the taco in his mouth.
Joe Anthony wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and moved the hand back, smoothing the long mustaches with the knuckle of his index finger. The other hand was still under the table.
Emmett held his revolver pointed square at Joe Anthony and seemed to be unmindful of the other two men. Lloyd and Ned came through the kitchen door and moved around behind Emmett.
'Get up,' Em ordered. 'And take off your belts.'
Somebody's chair scraped, but Joe Anthony said, 'Hold it!' and it was quiet.
Anthony was staring back at Emmett. 'Do I look like a green kid to you, Ryan?' he said, and half smiled. 'You're not telling anybody what to do, cowboy.'
'I said get up,' Em repeated. Joe Anthony kept on smiling like he thought Emmett was a fool. He shook his head slowly. 'Ryan, the longer you stand there, the shorter your chances are of leaving here on your two feet.'
'You're all mouth,' Emmett said. 'Just mouth.'
The outlaw's expression didn't change. His face was good-looking in a swarthy kind of way, but gaunt and hungry-looking with pale, shallow eyes like a man who forgot where his conscience was, or that he ever had one.
His smile sagged a little and he said, 'Ryan, let's quit playing. You ride the hell out of here before I shoot you.'
'I'm not playing,' Emmett said, leveling the revolver. 'Get up, quick.'
'Ryan,' Joe Anthony whispered impatiently, 'I've had a Colt leveled on your belly since the second you come through that doorway.'
I thought I knew Emmett Ryan, but I didn't know him as well as I supposed. His face didn't change its expression, but his finger moved on the trigger and the room filled with the explosion. His thumb yanked on the hammer and he fired again right on top of the first one.
Joe Anthony went back with his chair, fell hard and lay still. His pistol was still in the holster on his right hip.
Emmett looked down at him. 'You're all mouth, Anthony. All mouth.'
Nobody said anything after that. We were looking at Em and Em was looking at Joe Anthony stretched out on the floor. I heard steps behind me and there was Dobie Shaw tiptoeing in and looking like he'd dive out the window if anybody said anything.
Emmett waved his gun at the other man and glanced at his brother.
'Who's this?'
Jack spoke easily. 'Earl Roach. We picked him up for a trail driver.
He didn't know it was rustled stock.'
Roach was unfastening his gun belt. He shot a look toward Jack.
'Boy,' he said, 'you take care of your troubles and I'll take care of mine.'
Dobie Shaw moved up behind Emmett hesitantly and waited for the big foreman to look his way. 'Mr. Ryan--Ben's holding Butzy over to the livery.' He went on hurriedly trying to get the whole story out before Em asked any questions. 'Butzy walked right in and didn't move after Ben throwed down on him, but there was another one back a ways and he turned and rode like hell when he saw me and Ben with our guns out. Me and Ben didn't even get a shot at him 'fore he was round the corner and gone.'
'All right, Dobie. You go on back with Ben.' Emmett hesitated and glanced at Jack like he was making up his mind all over again, but the doubt passed off quickly. He said, 'We'll be over directly. You go on and tell Ben to keep Butzy right there.'
FRANK BUTZINGER was flat against the boards of a stall, though Ben Templin was standing across the open part of the stable smoking a cigarette with his carbine propped against the wall. Ben wasn't paying any attention to him, but even in the dim light you could see Butzy was about ready to die of fright.
Gosh Hall pushed Jack and Earl Roach toward the stall that Butzy was in and mumbled something, probably swearing. Jack looked around at him with a half smile and shook his head like a father playing Indians with his youngster. Humoring him.
Emmett stood out in the open part with the rest of us spread around now. He said, 'You sell the stock yet?'
'A few,' Jack answered. 'We got almost a hundred head.'
'You got the money?'
'What do you think?'
The foreman motioned to Gosh Hall. 'Get some line and tie their hands behind them.'
The little cowboy's face brightened and he moved into the stall lifting a coil of rope from the side wall. When he pulled his knife and started to cut it into pieces, the stableman came running over. He'd been standing in the front doorway, but I hadn't noticed him there before.
He ran over yelling, 'Hey, that's my rope!'
Gosh reached out, laughing, and grabbed one of his braces and snapped it against his faded red-flannel undershirt. 'Get back, old man, you're interfering with justice.' Then he pushed the man hard against the stall partition.
Emmett took hold of his elbow and pulled him out toward the front of the livery. 'You stay out here,' he said. 'This isn't any of your business.' He turned from the man and nodded his head to the stalls where three horses were. The stable was large, high-ceilinged, with stalls lining both sides.
The open area was wide, but longer than it was wide, with heavy timbers overhead reaching from lofts on both sides that ran the length of the stable above the stalls. The stable was empty but for the three horses toward
