Ironhorse

109

Berkeley and I followed Virgil moving quickly out of the bar and into the main room of the hotel.

Virgil spoke quiet to Berkeley’s men, Gabriel and Jesse, who were still playing cards with Burns. “You two! Get around the back of this building. Keep your eyes open, you see the buckskin fellow we described to you, kill him, don’t let him get close to you and don’t you shoot nobody else.”

Gabriel and Jesse looked at Berkeley.

“You heard him,” Berkeley said quiet-like, “go...”

Gabriel and Jesse hurried out the front.

“That window with the broken planter,” Virgil said. “Who’s in that room?”

“I don’t know,” Berkeley said, looking at the desk clerk, Burns. “Don’t think anybody. Room eight?”

Burns shook his head. “There’s nobody in room eight.”

“Which door would that be in the hall up there?” Virgil asked Berkeley.

“Turn right at the top of the stairs,” Berkeley said. “Eight is the second-to-the-last room on the right.”

“What about the girls,” Virgil said. “What room are they in?”

Berkeley looked to Burns.

“They are in the same room with their mother and father. Stateroom on the third floor,” Burns said. “They did not want to be separated.”

“Where are the stairs up to that room?”

“When you get to the second floor, you go all the way past room eight; the stairs to the third floor are there, at the end of the hall on the left.”

“Hobbs,” Virgil said. “He in the same room he was?”

“No,” Burns said. “We haven’t got the doors fixed yet after you and your deputy knocked ’em in. He’s in the room right across from where he was. Room two.”

“Don’t think we’ll need him,” Virgil said, “but get the keys.”

Burns turned and got the master ring from a drawer and set them on the counter in front of Virgil. Virgil handed them to me and pulled his second Colt.

“I know I don’t need to tell you boys,” Virgil said looking at Berkeley and me, “but watch yourself.”

With that, Virgil cocked the second Colt and we started up the stairs. We moved slowly and quietly. Virgil led the way with his dual Colts, followed by me with the eight-gauge and Berkeley with his .38 Smith & Wesson Lemon Squeezer. We moved one step at a time.

The sconces were burning, but the light was very dim on the stairs and on the second-floor hall. Virgil stopped shy of the hall and lay down on the steps. He removed his hat and peeked out into the hall, looking first to his left, then to his right. He moved back, looked at us, and shook his head. He put on his hat, stood up, and stepped out into the hall. He held his hand up with his palm pointing toward us, for us to hold up and not move. He pointed to his eyes, to himself, and moved slowly down the hall to the right. I moved up to the top step. I could see the hall in the opposite direction Virgil had started walking. The direction I was looking was the short side, with only two rooms across from each other. The room I could see was the room with the broken door where I barged in on Hobbs. I inched out and looked in the other direction, watching Virgil as he walked the long hall. He was moving slowly with a Colt in each hand. He stopped when he got to room eight. He looked down to the floor and continued walking until he got to the stairs leading to the third-floor room at the end of the hall. Virgil looked up the stairs. He looked back toward me and motioned for us to come. I stepped into the hall and walked slowly, quietly toward Virgil, and Berkeley followed. When we got to room eight, Virgil was by the door and pointing at the floor. There was a path of blood at the bottom of the door that led down the hall and up the stairs. Virgil stepped to one side of the door, motioned for us to get to the other side of the door, and pointed to the door handle with his Colt.

I nodded and turned the handle gently. The handle moved. The door was not locked. I looked at Virgil. He nodded. I turned the handle fully, and the door swung open freely.