Pearl River Junction: The Sons of Daniel Shaye

47

Jeb Collier came out of the hotel and found Ben waiting there with his horse. Behind him he heard a shot. He thought that must be Vic Delay taking care of the hotel bill.

The night before, when they had returned to the hotel, he’d heard Delay ask the clerk, “Say, how many people live in this town anyway?”

“Not very many anymore,” the clerk said. “Probably a dozen or so of us left, is all.”

Well, Jeb had thought, minus the sheriff and the bartender.

On the way up the stairs to their rooms, Jeb said, “You want to kill the whole town, Vic?”

“I’m thinkin’ about it.”

“Forget it,” Jeb said. “Take care of the telegraph in the morning and the desk clerk, then we’ll be on our way.”

“You’re callin’ the shots,” Delay had said.

Now it was morning and there was only the telegraph key and operator to take care of. Once the key was disabled, it didn’t matter how many people they left behind.

Delay came out of the hotel, pulling on his black leather gloves.

“Paid the bill,” he said.

“Okay, let’s do the rest of it and get on the trail,” Jeb said. He took the reins of his horse from his brother.

“Where’s my horse?” Delay asked.

Nervously, Ben said, “Tanner’s got it over to the saloon, Mr. Delay. That’s where the rest of the boys are.”

“Ben, I’m goin’ to the telegraph office with Vic,” Jeb said, mounting up. “Go get the rest of the boys ready to travel—and they better not be drunk.”

“Sure, Jeb.”

As Ben rode off toward the saloon, Delay said, “He’s an idiot.”

“But he’s my brother,” Jeb said. “Don’t forget that, Vic.”

The two matched stares, Jeb getting the upper hand because he was mounted and looking down at Delay.

“Like I said,” Delay repeated, “you’re callin’ the shots,” and then he added to himself—for now.