“Expecting company, Bee?”
“No, I’m not,” Dunn said hastily. “Always come down here for coffee in the mornin’. Old lady raises hell if I get her up too early.”
Tilghman motioned with the pistol. “Eight bunks and a stove, all the comforts of home. You running a hotel?”
“Well, you know, people stop over and want a bed. I try to oblige.”
“Yeah, I recollect you’re the obliging sort. Last time I was here, you had three horse thieves holed up.”
Dunn shifted from foot to foot. “Told you I never saw those boys before. Just let ’em stay the night.”
Tilghman noted that he appeared agitated. His voice was an octave too high and a muscle ticced along his jawline. He seemed unable to stand still.
“How about today?” Tilghman waggled the snout of his pistol. “Anybody in those bunks?”
A slight rustling noise sounded as someone shifted in the farthest bunk. On two of the bunks closer to the door, the draped blankets moved as though touched from behind. Dunn’s eyes went wide with fright.
“Nobody’s here,” he said in a shaky voice. “Told you, I’m just makin’ coffee.”
Tilghman sensed that he’d stepped into a vipers’ den. There were at least three men, probably more, hidden behind the draped blankets. He was outnumbered and outgunned, and the wrong word now would be his last. He was reminded that discretion often proved the better part of valor.
“I’m after three bank robbers,” he lied casually. “Got a posse of ten men waitin’ in the woods. Any strangers come through here last night?”
Dunn’s mouth twitched. “Nobody come through here.”
“You’re real sure about that, Bee?”
“Plumb certain.”
Dunn stole a furtive glance at the bunks. For a moment, the silence in the dugout was like breathing suspended. Tilghman knew then his bluff had worked; the men in the bunks believed he had a posse outside. They were convinced for now that their only chance was if he left the dugout alive. He decided not to press his luck.
“We’re headed north,” he said, underscoring his bluff. “Do yourself a favor and keep your nose clean. Get my drift?”
“Don’t worry, marshal.” Dunn bobbed his head. “I’m not lookin’ for trouble.”
“Then I guess we understand one another. See you around, Bee.”
Tilghman took a step backwards through the entrance. He purposely slammed the door shut, a signal to everyone inside that he was gone. Holstering his pistol, he turned from the dugout and walked toward the trees. All the way across the open ground he felt as though he was lugging an anvil on his shoulders. Yet he forced himself to maintain a brisk, unconcerned pace.
Brown waited behind a large live oak. He kept his carbine trained on the compound until Tilghman was well within the treeline. Then, a Winchester in either hand, he retreated deeper into the woods. He let out a huge sigh of relief.
“What happened?” he said nervously. “I started to think you was a goner.”
“So did I,” Tilghman replied. “I think Doolin and some of his men are in that dugout.”
“How’d you get out alive?”
“They thought I had an ace in the hole.”
“Ace in the hole?” Brown looked rattled. “What the hell you talkin’ about?”
“I’ll tell you about it later. Let’s see what they do now.”
Tilghman retrieved his carbine and motioned Brown to follow. Crouched low, they moved forward to a patch of shadows just inside the treeline. There they went belly down on the ground, hidden from sight. Quiet and still, careful not to betray their position, they waited.
A long half hour passed in silence. Then with a screech of hinges, the door of the dugout swung open. Bee Dunn moved into the sunlight, blinking against the glare. He shaded his eyes with one hand and slowly examined the woods on all sides. Finally, satisfied that no one waited in ambush, he turned back toward the door. His voice was muffled.
Red Buck Waightman emerged from the dugout. He was followed by Doolin, and then, one at a time, the rest of the Wild Bunch. They stood ganged together, eyes shaded against the sunlight, searching the woods. Dunn’s woman appeared in the doorway of the house and her call to breakfast sounded across the compound. On signal from Doolin, the men trooped toward the house.
Tilghman shouldered his Winchester. He caught the sights and drew a bead on Doolin’s back. A touch on the trigger, one shot, and the leader of the Wild Bunch would be dead. The urge to fire and end it here was almost overwhelming. But he found himself unable to squeeze off the shot. He was no assassin.
Doolin and his men entered the house. Tilghman lowered the hammer on his carbine and rose to his feet. Brown gave him a strange look. “Where you headed?”
“Guthrie,” Tilghman said. “We’re coming back with more men.”
He walked off toward their horses.
CHAPTER 23
“Are you serious? You had him in your sights?”
“That’s about the size of it.”
Evett Nix stared at him with a flabbergasted expression. Tilghman was seated before the desk and Heck Thomas stood at the window. There was a moment of strained silence.
“For God’s sake!” Nix snapped. “Why didn’t you shoot him?”
Tilghman’s gaze was steady. “I’m no bushwhacker.”
“We’re not discussing some gentlemanly code of honor. We’re talking about a cold-blooded killer!”
“Speak for yourself. I don’t shoot men in the back.”
“Those were your orders,” Nix said indignantly. “Bring them back dead, which is to say, kill them. Who are you to decide the right or wrong of it?”
“I’ve already told you,” Tilghman said levelly. “I won’t kill a man without fair warning.”
Tilghman had briefed them on his scout of the Dunn ranch. He’d spared no details, nor had he spared himself. The tense moments in the dugout, as well as the chance to kill Doolin, had been recounted at length. He had offered no excuses.
“Now that I think of it,” Nix said, “who authorized you to go off on your own? You didn’t clear that with me.”
“The man
