Daniel Parker sighted, then pitched his horseshoe. The shot was bad enough that the two men he was playing with laughed even while the shoe was in midair.
Daniel swore, shook his head. Ned Hughes snorted. “You don’t have no concentration, kid. That’s your problem.”
Bill Peck grinned. “It’s all that lovin’ he’s getting from the Brant woman. Can’t think of nothing else.”
Hughes and Peck were some more of Brant’s hired guns. Every time things quieted down, they set up for horseshoes. Now they played in a patch of grass that ran between two birch trees. The Brant mine was down the hill. They always played for money but never for much, so Daniel joined in. He’d always considered himself good at the game but in recent days he’d played badly. Maybe they were right. Maybe it was Sarah and how much she’d changed him.
And how much she’d confused him.
His old man had never had money till lately. Like too many others in this state, his father could have turned outlaw. That was a much easier way to make money than honest labor. But the old man never did. And he spent his time with his son trying to persuade the boy to follow the same lawful path.
“Hey, your throw again,” Hughes said. “Lessen you’re off with your lady somewhere.”
Both Hughes and Peck laughed. But it was just joshing. No mean intent. A lot of the other gunnies made sarcastic remarks about how a beautiful woman like that could sure do a lot better than Daniel. He knew they were jealous but that didn’t make their comments any easier to take. Hughes and Peck were older. They seemed more tolerant of Daniel and his situation.
Daniel forced a smile. “Hang on to your money, boys. Just you watch this.”
He took his time. He sighted carefully. He almost threw but then stopped himself. He didn’t really care what they thought of his playing. It was himself he wanted to impress. He wanted to feel he was in control of his life again. Being with a woman like Sarah and turning bad had completely changed him. He felt different now and he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. He wished thoughts of his old man would leave him alone. He knew what his father would think of what he was doing.
“You did it again, kid.” This time Hughes’s laugh had an edge to it. “Your mind started driftin’ away again. Now you want to play this game or not?”
And damned if it wasn’t true. One moment he’d been concentrating on throwing a masterful pitch, and the next his attention was wrenched away to mull his situation again. It was worse than being drunk.
He grinned. People liked his grin. “I was just thinkin’ about how I’m gonna embarrass you two with this one.” He held up the iron shoe for them to see. “You ready?”
“We’re ready,” Peck said. “But are you?”
This time Daniel made quick work of it. He took careful aim, angled his elbow the way he always did, and then let fly.
The horseshoe rose in the air and then began its descent. A soft mountain breeze cooled Daniel’s face as he watched it. And then came the
“Well, looks like the kid’s got his brain back,” Hughes said.
The playing went smoothly from then on. Hughes and Peck were good at it but Daniel was better. But he could tell that they appreciated the competition. He was uncomfortable around gunnies—maybe you got used to people who killed in cold blood after you’d done it a few times yourself—but these two didn’t brag and threaten the way the others did. They might have been his uncles.
The game was winding down when a stout man came uptrail and stood there for a time watching them. He looked amused. Hughes saw him first. He said, “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Brant himself.”
Peck and Daniel now turned to face Brant. None of the gunnies liked the man. He was too cold, too arrogant. Even killers liked a little friendliness in their relationships.
“Hell of a way to waste your lives,” Brant said.
“You a preacher now, are you, Brant?” Hughes snapped. “Tell us how to spend our time.”
“I believe in bettering your lot. That’s why people came west. To improve their lot. And you don’t do that by pitching horseshoes all day.”
“Yeah.” Peck laughed. “We should be fritterin’ our time away in whorehouses. That’d be better now, wouldn’t it, Mr. Brant?”
Daniel was surprised at how openly sarcastic the gunnies were around Brant. He might be their boss in the short term but their guns made them more powerful and more dangerous than he could ever be no matter how much money he had. For Brant it had to be like keeping panthers on a leash. He just had to hope they never slipped that leash and attacked him.
“You probably had a halfway decent reason for comin’ up here, Brant,” Hughes said. He winked at Peck. “Maybe you’d like to share it with us.”
Brant shook his head in disgust. Locally he was a man who brooked no insolence. Townspeople feared him financially and his mine guards physically. But these drifters, these lowborn killers, they had no respect for who Brant was—or at least who he planned to be after he took things over around here.
“I want to have a meeting down at the mine. And I want you down there.”
“I hope it doesn’t run as long as that last meeting,” Peck said. “I damned near went to sleep.”
Brant’s face flushed deep red. He looked out of place up here in his city suit. Out of place and at the moment completely at the mercy of the mocking men he badly needed right now. “I’ll expect you along in ten minutes. And not one minute later.”
He turned and tromped back down the hill.
Hughes and Peck ridiculed Brant, of course. Daniel made a good audience. His laughter was deep and genuine.
But as the jokes kept coming, he thought how strange his life had become. A man hires you and you make fun of him. And he hires you to kill other people.
Yes, indeed. How strange Daniel Parker’s life had become.
2
You don’t just bring dead bodies into a town without there being some questions asked. The next morning, the inquest with the marshal in front of a magistrate took less than a half hour, with Cain and one of his men giving their side of the story after Fargo gave his. They were all cleared and the judge actually thanked them for taking care of the problem.
Fargo had no doubt that this gang of thieves wasn’t the main problem. More than likely, by getting rid of them, he was going to force Brant into hiring more experienced and dangerous men to go after Cain’s gold.
After dinner the night before, Fargo had asked around and it seemed that no one recognized the men lying in coffins in the morgue, and no one had inquired about their horses or their gear. He hadn’t expected anyone to, but it never hurt to ask.
Outside the stone courthouse, on the edge of the dusty street, Marshal Davis stopped Cain and Fargo. He stood about the same height as Fargo, slightly taller than Cain, and looked like he would be a formidable foe in a fight, even though gray was touching his hair on the sides. He had on a black suit jacket and a wide-brimmed hat. The matching Colts that the marshal carried comfortably in leather on his hips told Fargo the man could shoot with both hands, probably with deadly accuracy. And from what Fargo had heard about Marshal Davis, the man was harsh but fair, and kept the streets of Sacramento pretty much under control.
“Fargo,” the marshal said, staring directly into Fargo’s eyes. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you. You mind? I got a question for you.”
“Fire away, Marshal. Not sure I have an answer, but I’ll do my darnedest.”
Marshal Davis smiled. “Are you working the Placerville road for Mr. Parker?”
“I am,” Fargo said.
Cain laughed. “Thank all the heavens that he is. It would be me and my men lying in that morgue without him helping me out.”
Marshal Davis nodded. “Glad you’re on the job. I need all the help I can get on that road with all the robberies going on and the amount of gold being transported into town. And from the looks of them, I doubt these
