Lorenzo Wilks was wearing a white apron and he had his arms elbow deep in soapy water. He was washing dishes in the kitchen of the Rustic Rock Café.
“Yes, sir, I seen it,” Wilks said, answering Abe’s question. “I seen it all. Like I tole the sheriff, the one that was leadin’ ’em had . . .”
“No!” Abe said, interrupting the cook. “I’m going to describe the man to you, and I want to know if it is anything like what you saw.”
“All right,” Wilks said.
“He was about my height, he had dirty blond hair that hung down to his ears. And he had an ugly, purple scar that started here,” Abe put his finger just below the brow of his left eye, “and it came down through his eyelid making it sort of purple and puffed up, then it ended right here.”
Abe stopped his finger just at the top of his cheek.
“Lawd have mercy,” Wilks said. “You done described the mark o’ Satan he had on ’im so’s I can see ’im, just like he was standin’ right here.”
Abe nodded. “It’s Sid Shamrock,” he said. “Thank you, Mr. Wilks.”
“I hope you find ’im,” Wilks said. “A man like that, ’n all those men that was with ’im . . . they don’t deserve to live. What they done to all them people, ’n even the women ’n those poor little chilrun . . . they need to hang for it.”
Chapter Sixteen
Turley saw the pinto approaching, and as it got closer he saw that the rider didn’t appear to be any older than thirteen or fourteen years old.
“What do you need, boy?” Turley asked.
“I have a telegram for Mr. Houser,” the boy replied.
“All right, give it to me, I’ll give it to him.”
“No, sir, I can’t do that. Mr. Proffer, he said I can’t give it to nobody but Mr. Houser his ownself.”
“I work for Mr. Houser,” Turley said, aggravated by the boy’s response.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t do it. I can only give it to Mr. Houser.”
“Wait here,” Turley said.
The boy dismounted and stood by his horse as Turley went into the ranch office.
“There’s a boy out front with a telegram that he says he can only give to you,” Turley said.
“A telegram? I can’t imagine who would be sending me a telegram.” Curious, Houser stepped out to see the boy.
“Are you Mr. Houser?” the boy asked.
“I am.”
The boy handed Houser a yellow envelope, and Houser gave the boy a quarter.
“Thank you, sir!” the boy said enthusiastically.
“What does it say?” Turley asked.
“Mr. Turley, there is a reason that the boy insisted upon putting the telegram in my hands, and my hands only,” Houser replied. “The reason is privacy.”
“What?”
“It means that it is none of your business what the telegram says. It was sent to me, personally.”
“Yes, sir, sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I was just curious, is all.”
“I’m sure you have heard the expression curiosity killed a cat,” Houser said.
“What? Now how the hell can bein’ curious kill a cat?”
“Never mind,” Houser said with a shake of his head.
Returning to his office, Houser opened the envelope and read the telegram.
I AM IN CHEYENNE WITH FIVE FRIENDS STOP WE ARE LOOKING FOR A JOB STOP CAN YOU MEET ME HERE STOP SHAMROCK
At first, Houser slammed the telegram down on his desk in disgust. How dare Sid Shamrock contact him? Shamrock had taken a solemn oath never to contact him again. How did he even know where he was? Then he remembered the letter he had gotten from Rosemary Woods.
Well, he can just stay up there and rot.
No, wait, Shamrock obviously knew where he was, and if he had five men with him, then he could cause trouble.
Even as the agitation was building about the contents of the telegram, another thought began to take hold. And the more he thought about it, the stronger the thought became.
“Yes,” he said aloud as a big smile spread across his face. Six men looking for a job? Houser knew exactly what job they could do. In fact, he could almost say that the arrival of Sid Shamrock could work out very well for him.
Stepping back outside, he saw Turley talking to a couple of his riders.
“Turley,” he called.
Turley sent the two riders off on whatever task he had assigned them, then responded to Houser’s call.
“Yes, sir?”
“I’m going to be gone for a few days. Keep things going here.”
“Yes, sir. Uh, what about Knox ’n them other two?”
“Never mind about them. I’ll tell them I’m gone, and I’m quite sure they will be able to take care of themselves.”
“Yes, sir,” Turley replied.
* * *
“You want to rent an entire stagecoach?” the manager of the Chugwater branch of the Southern Wyoming Stagecoach Company said, in reply to Houser’s request.
“I do indeed. I have six men that I need to pick up in Cheyenne.”
“Couldn’t they just take the train?”
“I suppose they could, but I would like to set my own time schedule. Tell me, Mr. Walker, why are you so reticent to do business with me?”
“Why am I what?”
“Why are you trying to talk me out of renting a stagecoach? Do you not want my business?”
“Oh no, sir, no, sir, nothin’ like that,” Walker said. “I very much want your business.”
“Then you will make a coach available to me?”
“Yes, sir, I would be glad to. If you will come back at one o’clock this afternoon, I will have a coach and driver ready for you.”
As Brad Houser waited for the coach to be made ready for him, he stepped into the Valley Restaurant to have his lunch. There, he saw a pretty woman with blond hair and blue eyes, who was eating alone. He recognized her as the owner of the dress emporium. He had also heard that she was Duff MacCallister’s lady friend.
“Miss Parker,” he said, stepping up to her table. “Would you mind, terribly, if I joined you for lunch?” Houser smiled. “I would be happy to pay for the
