A Wolf in the Fold

The cowboy broke stride and pretended to see them for the first time. “Oh. I suppose I could. Or you and me could have our own game.” He stepped to a different table and beckoned. “What do you say? Have a seat.” He indicated a chair across from him.

If I did as he wanted I would have my back to the door at the rear. Shaking my head, I pushed with my boot against the chair across from me at my own table. “Right here will do.”

The cowboy would not last an hour as an assassin. His face gave him away. Reluctantly coming over, he put his glass down. “Fine by me,” he said.

“Don’t we need cards?” I brought up.

He slid his right hand under his brown vest. “As it so happens, I have a new deck.”

My own hand was on the Remington, but he did not unlimber a hideout. He did indeed place a deck on the table.

“Are you a cardsharp?” I asked mildly.

His laugh was brittle. “Where did you get a notion like that? I’m a cowpoke, not a gambler.”

“Do you always carry a deck of cards around with you?”

“I got it from the barkeep.” The cowboy began to shuffle, unaware of the mistake he had made.

I slid the Remington from my holster but did not raise it above the table. “When would that be?”

He froze and his forehead furrowed. “When what?”

“When did you get the cards from him? I saw you come in and all he gave you was whiskey.” I snapped the fingers of my left hand. “I know. He gave them to you earlier when you were in here with Gertrude and Bart Seton. Is that Bart in the back or a friend of yours?”

Sweat seemed to ooze from all his pores at once. “Mister, I don’t know what in hell you’re talking about.”

“How much is she paying you? The last one was offered a thousand dollars. Not that he lived to collect.”

“You make no kind of sense,” the cowboy said.

I rested the Remington on the table, but I did not point it at him yet. “I don’t suppose she’s still in Three Legs, is she?”

“She who?” the cowboy said, glaring now.

“You better give a holler to your friend in the back,” I suggested. “Who knows? Maybe he’ll put windows in my skull before I put them in yours.”

Panic made him reckless. He flung the cards at me and heaved up out of his chair, bawling, “Now, Clancy, now!”

I shot him in the head before he could clear leather. Shifting, I beheld another cowboy burst from the back. He had his Colt out, and fired. His shot went wide. Mine didn’t.

The bartender and the farmers imitated statues until I rose, breaking the spell. Then one of the farmers exclaimed, “Thank God that’s over! Mister, I want you to know we have no part in this. They made us stay so you wouldn’t get suspicious that things weren’t as they should be.”

The other farmer nodded. “They told us they would pistol-whip us if we didn’t do as they wanted.”

“Frank and Cliff are telling you the truth,” the bartender confirmed. “Those two cowboys were with that woman you were asking about. She and a gun shark she called Bart lit out of here not twenty minutes before you showed up.”

I smiled at the news.

The hour of reckoning was at hand.

Chapter 28

So much for resting.

I rode Brisco and led the mare. The stars overhead, the yips of coyotes, the strong night wind, I barely noticed any of it. All I could think of was Gertrude Tanner and what I wanted to do to her.

The bartender had overheard the fancy woman, as I had described her, talking to the gun shark. Something about her knowing powerful people in high places, and how they should head for Austin, the state capital. Not Clementsville, as I had thought. So I took the road to the southeast, flying like the wind.

I was close to tasting my cup of revenge. I could feel it. They would stop soon, if they had not stopped already. Their mounts had to be more tired than mine. They only had one each while I had the two. Keeping the mare had paid off.

Neither the bartender nor the farmers had any idea who I was. All they gathered from what little Gertrude told them was that I was after her and must be stopped, and they would cooperate, or else.

An interesting tidbit: One of the farmers, Frank, heard the gun shark refer to the fancy woman as his “sugar.” Frank said the woman did not like it and snapped at the gun shark to keep quiet.

Fury coursed through every fiber of my being. Fury so strong, so potent, I felt hot all over, inside and out, as if I were being cooked alive. Many a time in my life I had been angry or mad, but I had never experienced anything like this.

I gloried in it. I reveled in the raw vitality that pulsed in my veins. I felt as powerful as a steam engine. My fatigue evaporated. I no longer craved sleep or food for my empty belly.

An hour became two and the two hours became three, yet I saw no sign of my quarry. They might ride all night. But that was fine. I would do the same, and with two horses, I could cover the same ground much more swiftly. I was sure that by daylight the long chase would be over.