“That looks like our team,” April said.
“Where?” Rance asked.
“The one with the blazed face horse at the store, but that wasn’t my husband that went inside.”
“B.W.,” Rance called. “April thinks that’s her team at the Wilson store.”
B.W. wheeled his horse around. “Let’s have a look,” he said and they rode up to the store hitching post, dismounted and tied the horses beside the wagon.
“Tommy, you and May stay with the horses for now,” B.W. said.
“I want to know what’s going on, too,” Tommy said.
“Need you to keep an eye on May and the horses,” B.W. said. “I’ll let you know when you can come in.”
“Don’t leave us out here too long,” Tommy said.
B.W. nodded and they walked in the store. The man that got down from the wagon was talking to the store clerk.
“Need what’s on this list, Alfie,” he said and handed the clerk a piece of paper.
The clerk nodded. “Take a little bit, Norman.”
Norman nodded.
Rance walked up beside the man. “That your rig out front?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Where’d you get it?”
“None of your damn business,” Norman said.
“Might be,” Rance said. “This lady thinks it’s hers.”
“Well it ain’t.”
“Mister, we’re tryin’ to make this easy,” B.W. said. “But if you don’t tell us where you got that team we may have to do it the hard way.”
“Like what?”
B.W. grabbed Norman by his overalls shoulder strap, drew the Colt, cocked the hammer and placed it against the man’s head. “Now, where did you get the damn team?”
“I won it in a poker game, fair and square.”
“When?” Rance asked.
“Last night from a fellow named Cletus Brown.”
“That your husband, ma’am?” B.W. asked.
“Yes,” she said.
B.W. let go of Norman, let the hammer down slowly on the Colt and stuck it back in his holster.
“You know where Cletus is, mister?” Rance asked.
“No, we was at the Crow’s Nest last night. May still be there was cuddling with one of the whores.”
“If that’s what happened we won’t bother you again,” B.W. said. “If it’s not…we will.”
“Like I said, won it fair and square. He put it up for his hand. I had three aces, he had three jacks, everybody at the table saw it.”
“I don’t believe that,” April said. “He would never do that.”
“We’ll find out,” Rance said.
“You got no right poking a gun at me,” Norman said, shaking his fist at B.W.
“Maybe,” B.W. said. “If you want to keep that hand don’t shake your fist at me again.”
Norman glanced at his hand and dropped it by his side.
B.W. nodded approval and they walked out.
“What’s goin’ on?” Tommy asked.
“We’re not sure yet,” B.W. said.
“Ain’t doin’ no more babysittin,’” Tommy said.
“I ain’t no baby,” May said. “I’m ‘bout old as you are.”
“You’re a girl,” Tommy said.
“Bet I can whip you,” May said, staring at Tommy.
“I don’t fight girls.”
“May, mind your manners,” April said. “Hush.”
Tommy looked at May and smiled.
“Wonder where my husband is?” April said.
“He’s most likely still in town, ma’am,” Rance said. “If what the man said is true unless he walked out of town. What’s he look like?”
“Bout the same age and size as you,” she said, “a short black beard and blue eyes. Can’t believe he would gamble our team away.”
“If he was drunk, he might do anything. Right, B.W.?”
B.W. gave Rance a sideways look. “Right.”
“Ma’am, you and the kids go to the cafe and get something to eat,” Rance said. “We’ll see if we can find your husband.”
“Suits me,” Tommy said. “I’m hungry as a bear.”
“Take the horses with you, Tommy, we’ll walk,” B.W. said.
Rance and B.W. walked in the Crow’s Nest up to the bar. A large picture of a naked lady with a sheet covering her butt was hanging on the wall behind the bar. The bar was crowded with men still wearing their Union and Confederate uniforms. A piano player was playing what sounded like an Irish tune and a little whore was trying to give her best impression of an Irish jig.
The man behind the bar was average size, thinning gray hair, a droopy gray mustache and a gold watch chain looped in his vest pocket. A grin came on B.W.’s face as he stared at the bartender. For some reason it occurred to him that although the bartenders looked somewhat different from town to town, they were all the same with sleeve garters, aprons and a short fuse.
“Two whiskeys,” B.W. said.
“What you grinnin’ at?” the bartender asked. “Federals don’t like us servin’ Indians.”
B.W. laid his Colt on the bar. “Well, make an exception ‘fore I lose my sense of humor.”
The man looked at the Colt, wiped his brow and came back with a bottle and glasses and poured the drinks.
“Fifty cents a drink,” he said and held out his hand. B.W. reached in his pocket, took out a silver dollar.
“You know a man named Cletus Brown?” Rance asked.
“Tell you for another one of those silver dollars.”
B.W. pitched a dollar on the bar and the little man scooped it up. “Seen him here enough to know who he is. That’s ‘bout all.”
“Was he playin’ poker last night?”
“Yeah, was drunk, lost his wagon and horses to Norman Stiles.”
“You know where he is?” B.W. asked.
“Gave a whore his watch and went upstairs to sleep it off last night. Ain’t come down as far as I know.”
“What room?” Rance said.
“Room five. Why all the questions? You the law or something?”
“Mostly something,” Rance said.
B.W. picked up his whiskey glass, downed the whiskey, and Rance did the same. They went upstairs to room number five and walked up to the door.
“Don’t think he’s goin’ to be in any mood to greet a couple of strangers,” B.W. whispered.
Rance nodded and they drew their pistols. B.W. turned the door handle easy-like. It wasn’t locked. When he opened the door they saw a man that fit the description April gave them in his long-johns, his boots on, sprawled across the bed with
