Vengeance Creek: The Sons of Daniel Shaye

33

“Double W?” Shaye asked.

“Yes,” Thomas said.

Shaye looked at James.

“We went into the corral and looked after he left,” James said. “Two Ws, side by side.”

“Intertwined?”

James frowned.

“Connecting,” Thomas said to James, and then to Shaye, “No, they weren’t. Just side by side.”

“Do you know it, Pa?” James asked.

“No,” Shaye said, shifting painfully in his desk chair. “No, I never heard of it.” He took out his watch and looked at it. “You boys ready to go? You got a couple of hours of daylight left.”

“We’re ready,” Thomas said.

“Just remember,” Shaye said, “you’re wearing the badges. Listen to what Cory and Berto have to say, and then you make the decisions. Understand?”

“We understand, Pa,” James said.

“Pa,” Thomas asked, “how far do we go to catch these men?”

Before Shaye could answer, James said, “We go till we catch them, Thomas. They killed Nancy!”

Shaye looked at his sons. The urgency to capture these men and bring back the money was certainly not the same as it had been the year before, when they spent weeks tracking down the Langer brothers and their gang. But Caldwell and Jacks had killed many citizens of Vengeance Creek, including the mayor’s daughter, and they certainly could not be allowed to get away with that.

“Thomas,” he said. “Do you have any problem with chasin’ them until you find them?”

“These badges won’t mean much once we leave the county, Pa,” Thomas said.

James drew his gun and said, “These guns will mean just as much, no matter how far we have to go.”

“Put it away, James,” Shaye said. “How many times have I told you not to pull that unless you intend to use it.”

“I intend to use it, Pa!” James said fiercely.

“I know you do, son,” Shaye said, “but not now, right?”

James looked sheepish, and returned the gun to his holster. “Sorry, Pa.”

“James, I know you’re upset about Nancy’s death, but don’t let that cloud your judgment.”

“No, Pa,” James said, “I won’t.”

“Don’t worry, Pa,” Thomas said, “I’ll make sure he doesn’t.”

“I’m counting on the two of you to watch out for each other,” Shaye said. “And watch Rigoberto. Don’t let him get hold of a bottle.”

“What about Ralph Cory?” Thomas asked.

“What about him?”

“Do we have to watch him too?”

“No,” Shaye said. “There won’t be any reason for you two to watch Cory.”

“But he’ll be watching us?” James asked.

“He’ll be watching your backs,” Shaye said, “and you’ll be watching his. It’ll be up to the four of you to keep each other alive.”

“We’re only tracking two men, Pa,” Thomas said.

“You don’t know that,” Shaye said. “There’s another man floating around somewhere—and you don’t know where the other two are headed, or what’s waitin’ there. So don’t assume you’re only gonna have to deal with two men.”

Thomas nodded and said, “Okay, we’ll remember.”

“You better get goin’,” Shaye said. He grimaced. “I wish I was goin’ with you.”

“So do we, Pa,” James said.

“Be careful, boys.”

Thomas moved to the desk before his father could try to rise and held out his hand. Shaye shook it firmly, then followed suit with James. As they left, Shaye thought how proud he was of his two remaining sons—and how he hoped to see them again, soon.

Ralph Cory was standing in front of the livery stable, pulling the cinch on his saddle tight, when Rigoberto Colon came from behind the stable, leading his new animal.

“Ah, Señor Cory,” he said. “Buenos noches. It seems we are the first to arrive, eh?”

“It seems.”

Cory looked at Colon. The man’s eyes seemed clear, which was an oddity. Cory had seen the Mexican more than a few times around town and he had always been drunk. He wondered what Sheriff Daniel Shaye knew about the man that would sober him up so quickly and make him so ready to ride out as part of this very small posse.

Colon was chewing on a toothpick and watched as Cory secured his saddle to his satisfaction. The animal itself was a marble-speckled Appaloosa, about fifteen hands high.

“That is a handsome animal, señor,” Colon said.

“Thanks.”

“What is he? Eight? Nine?”

“Ten,” Cory said.

“Ah,” Colon said, “he has seen better days, then.”

Cory turned and looked at Colon. “Haven’t we all?”

Colon smiled, revealing several gold teeth. “Sí, that is true, señor. I meant no disrespect to your animal.”

“None taken.”

“You chose the same horse I did, eh?”

“The claybank won’t have the stamina of my horse,” Cory said, “but he’ll do.”

“Sí,” Colon said, “he was the best of the bunch.” The Mexican caressed the horse’s neck. “You also noticed what I did about the horse that was in the stall.”

“Light stepping in his left hind, you mean?”

“Sí,” Colon said. “The two young deputies, they have much to learn from us, eh?”

“I’m not here to teach them.”

“Then why are you here?”

“The same reason you are, I suppose.”

“I am here to help capture the bad men,” Colon said. “And because I owe Señor Shaye a debt of gratitude.”

Cory turned and faced the Mexican. “Then I guess we’re not here for the same reasons, are we?”

“I do not know, señor,” Colon said with a shrug. “You have not told me your reason.”

“Let’s just say I didn’t have much of a choice.”

Colon nodded, then looked down at the gun on Cory’s hip.

“That is a fine weapon.”

“Nothin’ fancy.”

“That is what I meant,” Colon said. “You can tell when a man cares for his gun, Señor Cory. Better that it should shoot straight than be adorned with silver and look pretty, eh?”

“It’ll shoot straight,” Cory said. “I made it myself.”

“Would you like to see my gun?”

Cory tensed as Colon drew his weapon, then executed a neat border shift and held it out. It was a Navy Colt, which surprised him. He figured Colon for a fancy gun to match the silver conches on his saddle. He took it, hefted it, inspected it, and handed it back.

“It’ll do.”

“Ah,” Colon said, “I am not known for my shooting, señor, but I too can at least shoot straight—and I can hit what I shoot at.”

“With a gun that size,” Cory said, “you’d only have to catch a piece of a man to stop him.”

“A bullet from this gun,” Colon said proudly, “would take a piece of a man right off, eh? An arm, a leg. Whoosh! Gone.”

Cory looked at Colon’s saddle. “That yours, or did the boys buy it for you?”

“The saddle? She is mine,” Colon said, putting his hand on it. “A—how do you say—something from a better time?” He rubbed his hand over the shiny leather. “It is all I own anymore.”

Cory recognized that the saddle had once cost a pretty penny. That meant that Rigoberto Colon had come from money at one time.

“Ah,” Colon said, looking past Cory, “here come our two young lawmen. I suspect it is time for us to be on our way.”

Cory turned his body sideways so he could watch Thomas and James approach without giving his back to the Mexican. A discussion of horses, saddles, and guns was not enough to bond two men together in trust—not yet, anyway.