Vengeance Creek: The Sons of Daniel Shaye

53

When Thomas came out of the sheriff’s office, the man was sitting in a wooden chair outside.

“Get what you needed?” Gibney asked.

“Yes.”

“You musta been more persuasive than your brother,” the sheriff said. “Say, ain’t he a little young for this kinda responsibility?”

“He’s old enough.”

“That’s what he said.”

“I’m gonna need a fresh mount,” Thomas said, “but I don’t think I have enough money to buy one. I can trade my mount in, but—”

Gibney stood up. “Let’s go and talk to Ian McShane,” he said. “He’s the local horse trader. In fact, that’s where your brother and them others found your man Davis.”

“Is that a fact?”

They started walking down the street, Thomas leading his horse.

“Where’s Davis’s horse and rig?” he asked the lawman.

“At the livery.”

“Maybe I can sweeten the deal by throwin’ them in.”

“Could be.”

They walked a few moments and then Gibney asked, “That feller Cory, ridin’ with your brother?”

“What about him?”

“He sure looked familiar to me,” the lawman said. “Where’d he come from?”

“He’s just a local, from Vengeance Creek,” Thomas said. “He volunteered.”

“And the Mex?”

“Also a volunteer.”

“Well, I don’t know him,” Gibney said, “but I’m sure I know Cory from someplace. It’ll come to me.”

Thomas hoped not.

When they reached the corral and shack at the end of town, Gibney stopped Thomas.

“Ian’s a fierce haggler,” he explained. “You won’t be able to buy a horse from him without it.”

“Okay.”

“And how are you on squeezin’s?”

“What?”

“Never mind,” Gibney said, patting Thomas on the arm, “just follow my lead, and maybe you’ll come out of it with a fresh horse and just a little bit of a headache.”

Sweetening the deal with Sean Davis’s horse and outfit had done the job for him. Thomas also promised to send Ian some more money when he returned to Vengeance Creek. With Sheriff Gibney backing his play, the horse trader had finally agreed.

He was tightening the cinch on his saddle when Gibney walked into the livery.

“Just about ready to go?”

“Almost.”

“Sure you don’t wanna grab a hot meal?”

“No time.”

“You got some idea about where your men are goin’?”

“Davis gave me some idea.”

“You believe him?”

“Yeah, I believe him.”

Thomas turned his new horse, a five-year-old bay mare Ian swore had the stamina of a bull, and walked her out of the livery. Thomas usually rode colts, or geldings, but the trader swore this was the best horse he had. Though he was not as good a judge of horseflesh as his father and younger brother, from what he could see, the man was telling the truth.

The sheriff followed him out of the livery. “So what are you gonna do?”

“Since I have an idea where they’re goin’,” Thomas said, swinging up into the saddle, “I don’t have to track them. I can try to maybe get ahead of them.”

“Might be you’ll just catch up to the rest of your posse,” Gibney said.

“Might be.”

“Anybody else gonna be comin’ along after you?”

Thomas briefly thought about his father, but he doubted Dan Shaye was ready to swing into the saddle just yet.

“I don’t think so,” he said.

“How long should I hold Davis?”

Thomas stared down at the man. “Until somebody comes for him.”

“And somebody will?” Gibney asked. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure, Sheriff,” Thomas said. “Somebody will come for him.”

“Okay, then,” Gibney said. “Good luck to you.”

Thomas shook the man’s hand, then gave the horse his heels and headed northeast.