“Now, you were concerned about Dooley Carson and Slim Hastings, I believe. Please send them in to see me. I wish to talk to them.”
“Yes, sir,” Turley agreed.
* * *
“You got another job for us?” Dooley asked anxiously when, a short while later, he and Slim showed up in response to the summons.
“No,” Houser said. “I shall have no further need for you to perform those special jobs. I have hired three men who will take care of such things for me in the future. However, I do appreciate what you two have done, and while I shall no longer be needing you for such services, I would like to show my appreciation for what you have done.”
Houser gave each of the men a one-hundred-dollar bill.
“I give you this money with the understanding that it is not only a token of my appreciation, it will also be a guarantee of your silence.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Houser,” Hastings said with a broad smile. “We ain’t never goin’ to say nothin’ to nobody about it.”
Shortly after Slim and Dooley left, Houser sent for Knox.
“Mr. Knox, you came rather highly recommended to me,” Houser said.
“Yeah?”
“I am told that if I needed a particular job done, one that might seem”—he paused—“rather extreme, that you would be able to handle it.”
“You’re wantin’ me to kill someone?”
“Most perceptive of you, Mr. Knox.”
“Most what?”
“Yes, I want you to kill someone. There are two men who have knowledge of an activity that, were it to get out, could be quite damaging. They are quite aware of just how damaging such information would be to my future plans, and I fear they may be tempted to blackmail me.”
“It’ll cost you two hundred ’n fifty dollars apiece,” Knox said with an evil smile.
“Here are two hundred and fifty dollars now. I’ll give you the other two hundred and fifty after the job is done.”
“Who is it you’re wantin’ me to kill?”
Chapter Ten
The girls who worked at Fiddler’s Green offered nothing but drinks, smiles, and friendly conversation. Dooley Carson and Slim Hastings wanted more than that, and they had the money in their pockets to be able to make that happen, if they went to the right place.
The Wild Hog Saloon was just such a place. There, one could arrange for just about any pleasure, as long as they could afford it. Dooley and Slim had both the means, and the willingness, to buy some of the pleasures thus offered. At the moment they were sitting at a table with two of the girls, enjoying the drink and the company, preparatory to taking the two young ladies upstairs for the ultimate pleasure.
Another customer came into the saloon, and he stood at the end of the bar, staring at Dooley and Slim.
“Hey, ain’t that one of them new men that come to work at the ranch?” Slim asked.
“Yeah,” Dooley said. “I think it is. It’s that Knox feller.”
“You two,” Knox called out to them. “You’re cattle thieves, ’n Mr. Houser wants me to take you down to the jail ’n turn you over to the sheriff.”
“What? What do you mean, we’re cattle thieves?” Dooley said.
“You’ve took twenty head of Twin Peaks cows,” Knox said.
“We didn’t do no such thing.”
By now all other conversation in the saloon had stopped as they followed the exchange between the man whose head looked like a cannonball, and Dooley Carson and Slim Hastings. Nobody knew the man with the cannonball head, but everyone knew Carson and Hastings—they had worked at one ranch or another for the last couple of years.
“Mr. Houser said that you did take ’em. Are you callin’ him a liar? I work for Mr. Houser, ’n I won’t put up with nobody callin’ him a liar. I’m loyal to the brand, unlike you two, who have stoled twenty cows. What did you do with ’em?”
“Wait a minute,” Hastings said. “We took them cows, yes, but they wasn’t stoled. We took ’em ’cause Mr. Houser told us to take ’em.”
“Why would Mr. Houser tell me that you stoled ’em, if he told you to take ’em?” Knox asked.
“I don’t know. All I know is we was told to take ’em.”
Knox held out his hand, then crooked his finger. “Why don’t you two come with me down to the sheriff’s office? You can tell him that Mr. Houser told you to steal them cows, and Mr. Houser can tell him that you stoled them of your own account, ’n we’ll see who the sheriff believes, you, or Mr. Houser.”
Dooley stood up then and let his hand hang loosely toward the pistol at his side. Slim stood as well.
“We ain’t goin’ nowhere with you, Knox,” Dooley said. “We’re goin’ back out to Twin Peaks ’n get this settled.”
Knox shook his head. “No, you ain’t. Mr. Houser has told me not to let you two boys come back to the ranch, ’n I aim to see that you don’t. Now, come on over to the sheriff’s office with me.”
“The hell we will!” Dooley shouted, making a grab for his pistol.
Dooley’s sudden grab caught Slim by surprise, but it committed him to draw as well.
Knox wasn’t surprised at all. He had been expecting it, had in fact been pushing to bring it about. And whereas the expressions on the faces of the two young cowboys were of fear and desperation, Knox was wearing a triumphant smile. He drew and fired, twice.
Dooley got off only one shot, his bullet punching a hole in the floor. Slim didn’t even manage to bring his gun to bear before Knox’s second shot slammed into his stomach.
The sharp, acrid odor of the cloud of gun smoke drifted across the room. Nobody said a word, so that the saloon, which but a second earlier was filled with the roar of gunfire, was now ghostly quiet.
Knox put his pistol away then walked over to the two bodies and started going through their pockets. He took all their money and
