The man pulled a bandana from around his neck with his left hand and wrapped his wounded one with it. “Who are you lookin for?” he said, grimacing in pain.
“Wanted to know if Sheriff Billy Shaw was on the train.”
“I don’t know. Wagons took them all to town to eat a while ago.”
“How long?”
“Couple of hours, tops.”
“When’s this train going to be ready to go?”
“Don’t know that either, you ran my workers off and mangled me.”
“Where does it stop next?”
“Go to hell,” he said.
“You’ll proably be there to greet us,” Rance said.
B.W. stepped off the train. “Nobody on it.”
“I know, he just told me,” Rance said. “Wagons took them all to town.”
B.W. glanced at the man, walked to his horse, unwrapped the reins from the saddle horn and climbed on.
“Better get that treated soon,” Rance said to the man and held up his handless arm up for him to see.
Tommy rode up leading Buck and held the reins while Rance climbed on and they headed for town with B. W
They saw a bunch of people climbing into the wagons to return to the train as they rode in. Billy wasn’t one of them.
“Most likely he’s gone,” B.W. said. “He knows we would be on his trail. Let’s check the livery stable, see if he bought a horse.”
They rode down the street until they saw the livery stable and rode up to the open door. Just inside the door, a man wearing a rebel hat with a wooden leg was dipping a hot horseshoe in a water trough, steam bellowing up. They dismounted and led their horses up to the man.
“Howdy,” Rance said. The man laid the horseshoe on an anvil, set the tongs down and leaned against the horse he was shoeing.
“Howdy,” he said.
“We’re looking for a little man with blue eyes, may be wearing a rebel hat like yours with an ivory-handled Colt. Wondered if you seen him?”
“Nope, ain’t been here,” the man said. He looked at Rance. “You too, huh?”
“‘Fraid so, Forty-First Virginia,” Rance said.
“Was with Jeb Stuart when he went down. Name’s Mackey. What you want that fella for?”
“Kind of personal,” Rance said.
Mackey nodded.
“Maybe he stole a horse,” B.W. said, looking at Rance and Tommy.
“What do we do now?” Tommy said.
“Don’t know,” B.W. said. “Have a look around town, I guess, might be in one of the saloons.”
“Thanks for your time,” Rance said, looking at Mackey.
He nodded again and picked up the tongs.
They mounted, turned around and rode up to a saloon and dismounted. “Hold the horses,” B.W. said and handed the reins to Tommy.
Two rough-looking cowboys standing at the bar drinking whiskey with middle-aged, worn-out-looking whores were the only ones in the place except for the bartender. He was fat and red-eyed. He looked like he might be his own best customer. He wiped his bloodshot eyes and leaned on the bar.
“What’ll you have,” he said.
“Just lookin’ for someone, won’t be long,” Rance said.
“You ain’t buyin’ nothin?’”
“Not now,” Rance said. “Let’s go.”
“Good advice,” the bartender said as they walked out on the street.
“Now what?” B.W. said.
“Beats me. No tellin’ where he is,” Rance said.
A Wells Fargo stagecoach came rolling by. They looked at the stagecoach then each other.
“Billy,” Rance said big-eyed.
They hurried to their horses, climbed on and took off after the stage coach.
B.W. galloped up beside the moving stagecoach, tied the reins on the saddle horn as he galloped along, grabbed the door, lifted his feet out of the stirrups and pulled himself inside the stage through the door window into Billy’s lap. Billy went for his gun but B.W. hit him as hard as he could with his fist, grabbing Billy’s gun and throwing it out the window, then drew his Colt and stuck it under Billy’s chin.
Two spinsters on the opposite seat with frilly dresses, strapped sack purses hanging on their arms and bonnets on, broke into a screaming duet and put each other in a bear hug.
“Shut up!” B.W. yelled and they turned the screams off and tightened their grip on each other, shaking like a wind-blown leaf.
B.W.’s big black was running alongside the stage horses. “Looky there, Shorty,” the driver said. “Where’s his rider?”
Shorty turned and looked behind them. “Two riders comin’, Zeb!” Shorty yelled. “The other one must be inside.”
Zeb wrapped his hands around the reins and started reining the horses in and came to a stop. They jumped down from the seat with their shotguns. Zeb had his shotgun pointed at Rance and Tommy as they rode up and Shorty on the ground with his.
“Rein them horses in and drop your guns,” Zeb said. “And get down off them horses.”
“You in the stage coach, throw your guns out,” Shorty said.
Rance dropped his guns on the ground and he and Tommy dismounted, holding the reins of their horses. Tommy stepped back from his saddle and leaned on his saddle bags. Zeb was waving the shotgun around like he may start shooting any time.
“Keep still, Tommy,” Rance said.
“Throw your guns out now,” Shorty said, looking at the stage.
“What if I keep ‘em and hold on to these nice ladies?” B.W. said.
“Don’t care,” Zeb said. “I’ll shoot you anyway.”
“Did you hear that, Ethel?” one of the ladies said.
“I did, Sadie,” the other one said. “He doesn’t care if this savage kills us.”
“Alright,” B.W. said and tossed his Colt out and stuck his tomahawk in the back of his belt.
“All of you, get out,” Zeb said.
“Get out, Billy,” B.W. said.
“He means you too,” Billy said.
Billy grabbed for his saddle bags and B.W. shoved his hand away and pushed him out the door and he followed, leaving the saddle bags on the stage. He turned back to the ladies to help them out but they wouldn’t take his hand.
“Don’t touch me, you savage,” Ethel said and helped Sadie off the stage.
“He’s got a tomahawk stuck in the back
