'But… why not? I mean… as soon as Ruth Lillian tells them how things are down here, they're sure to — '
'Ruth Lillian won't be telling them anything. I brought her back with me.'
'What? But the whole point was to get her out of here!'
'She'd never of made it up to the Lode, son. When it rains, that trail's a death trap. All slimy and muddy, with patches falling away into the ravine. The wind would of snatched her right off one of those exposed bends. Oh, she was willing to give it a try. That girl's got more grit than sense. But I couldn't let her do it.'
'Where is she now?'
'Up in the loft out of sight. With Frenchy.'
Matthew raked his fingers through his hair and pulled on it. The only good thing in all this trouble had been the knowledge that Ruth Lillian was safe. But now… 'She's in terrible danger. That Lieder's looking for a virgin girl to carry his seed.'
'She'll be all right,' Coots said. 'I'm going to deal with 'em tonight. That's already been settled. ' His quick glance toward B. J. said that it was Coots who had settled it over B. J.'s objections.
'What are we going to do?' Matthew asked. 'What's your plan?'
'Plan? It's hardly a plan at all,' Coots admitted. 'Those men don't know about me or my gun. That gives us an edge. B. J. tells me that all the men in town will be in the hotel tonight, singing and drinking. And that's just fine. I'll lie low until the storm's at its fiercest, then I'll make my way down to the train track and come back up behind the hotel. Its kitchen door ain't locked, is it?'
'Can't be. There's no lock.'
'Good. How will I recognize the boss?'
'He's strange-looking,' B. J. said, and Matthew could see his eyes move behind their closed lids, as though he were examining Lieder's face in his memory. 'Sharp features,' B. J. continued. 'Almost refined. But his eyes are opaque. Like porcelain. You can't see what's going on behind them.'
'A big man?'
'Middling.'
'How old?'
'Hard to say. Anything from thirty to fifty. His face is all covered with fine lines. He looks like a man riven through with hate and malice. A man who means to get even… with everybody.'
'Do you know what happened to Mr. Delanny?' Matthew asked Coots.
'Yeah, B. J. told me. I'm glad that Frenchy's on our side.'
'It was my fault… partly, anyway.'
'How you figure?'
'It was me let Frenchy take the knife. I thought she was going to use it on Lieder.'
'Maybe that's what she had in mind,' B. J. said, opening his eyes. 'But when she saw how Delanny was being treated…' He lifted his shoulders.
'And Ruth Lillian? Did you tell her that Mr. Delanny is dead?'
'No reason to worry the girl more than we have to. All I told her was to keep out of sight upstairs.'
'What about you, Mr. Coots? Shouldn't you keep out of sight too?'
'I'll be staying right here until it's time to go. ' He set his coffee cup on the table, pulled the old thick-barrelled Walker-Whitney Colt from his belt and put it beside the cup, then he lay back with a sore-muscled grunt, and for the first time ever, B. J. didn't make a fuss about his goddamned boots! Coots blew a long sigh toward the ceiling. 'We sure have got ourselves a shitload of trouble.'
'Yes sir, that's true.' Matthew stared at the floor before asking, 'So what are you going to do?'
'What do you mean?'
'When you get into the hotel, what are you going to do? Call him out?'
'Do what?'
'Call him out?'
'Oh, my. You read too many of those Ringo Kid books. No, Matthew, I'm not going to call him out, or do anything else stupid. What I'll do is sneak up as close as I can, then shoot him. In the back, if I can. I'm going to put him down like you would a mad dog.'
'Just… shoot him?'
'Just shoot him.'
'But he's had lots of trouble and misery in his life. He's been… damaged. Oh, I know he's mean and dangerous! But still he's…' Matthew shrugged.
'But still he's what?' B. J. asked, exchanging a glance with Coots. 'What are you trying to say, Matthew?'
'I don't know. It's just that… well, people aren't always to blame for things they do. Sometimes things just happen. People get damaged, and things happen without it being anyone's fault!'
B. J. recalled what he had read in the Nebraska Plainsman: that man and woman found in a farmhouse outside Bushnell. 'Tell me what you think we should do, Matthew.'
'Well, maybe we could… we could… I don't rightly know!'
'But you do understand that this man is insane, don't you? And you realize there's no reasoning with him?'
'Look, boy,' Coots, said. 'A rattlesnake kills. Not because it's evil, but just because it's a rattlesnake, and killing is what rattlesnakes do. So when you find one in your bedroll…'
B. J. could sense Matthew's misery of indecision, so he took the pressure off him by asking Coots, 'If you get a clear shot at the boss, and if you hit him, then what will you-'
'If I get a clear shot, I'll hit him. Don't worry about that.'
'All right. But what about the other two?'
Coots nodded. 'Yeah, I been thinking about that. I been picturing just what I'll do and just what'll happen. That's what you got to do-picture it all beforehand, step-by-step, so there won't be no surprises. The minute I squeeze off the first shot, all hell's going to break loose, with the townsfolk and the girls scuttling for cover and crossing my line of fire, so dropping those other two could be messy. Some people might get hit by strays. The important thing is to drop the boss with the first shot. You snap off a snake's head, and the body might coil and twist for a while, but it ain't going nowhere.'
Matthew nodded, savoring these matter-of-fact details, coming as they did from an experienced gun.
'If we had another gun, I could back you up,' B. J. said.
Coots lifted the brim of his hat and regarded him with an alarmed frown. 'Benjamin Joseph Stone, you're an educated man and you're a fair-to-middlin' partner-even if you can't cook for shit. But in a fight the only thing more dangerous than a gun-smart enemy is a gun-dumb friend. No, taken all in all, it's probably just as good we don't have another gun.'
'But, I…' Matthew began.
'What is it, boy?'
'Well… you seem to have forgot my pa's gun. Maybe I could-'
'That antique shotgun?'
'Yes, sir.'
Coots sniffed. 'That ain't no weapon for close-in fighting. Especially at night.'
'But maybe I could go over there in daylight-'
'Just sashay across the street carrying that cannon? Boy, you'd never even get close. They'd drop you before you could… no, forget it. I know what I'm doing. And it's best if I do it alone. At least I can't get into my own line of fire.'
'Look, you better go down to the Mercantile, Matthew,' B. J. said. 'It's dinnertime, and you always eat there. We don't want to raise any suspicions that might bring those men snooping around. Tell Mr. Kane that his daughter's here, and she's safe. Explain about the storm. Try to reassure him. He's an old man and he's bound to worry.'
Coots chuckled dryly. 'He's no older'n you. Maybe even younger.'
'And Matthew?' B. J. pursued, ignoring this.
'Sir?'
