Vengeance Creek: The Sons of Daniel Shaye

63

It was deathly quiet on the street once the shooting stopped. Then James heard the sound of men running. When he turned, he saw three men with badges advancing on him, their guns out. Instantly, he put his hands in the air, his gun still in his right.

“It’s all over!” he shouted. “It’s over!”

“Drop the gun!” the man wearing the sheriff’s badge hollered back. “Drop it!”

“Easy! Take it easy,” James said. “I’m a lawman.” He looked down at Colon, who was holding his hand over his shoulder, ribbons of blood running through his fingers. “My friend needs a doctor.”

“Drop the gun, I said.”

James obeyed, dropping his pistol to the ground. The lawman took in the picture before him, then said to his deputies, “Check on those other two.”

“Right, Sheriff,” one of them said.

The lawman was tall, square-shouldered, with a face that looked as if it had been carved from granite.

“I’m Sheriff Sam Dean. Identify yourself,” he said.

“I’m Deputy James Shaye, from Vengeance Creek, Arizona.”

“Arizona?” The man frowned. “You’re a little out of your jurisdiction. Let me see your badge.”

James moved his arms so the man could see his badge.

“Toss it over here.”

James hesitated, then took it off and tossed it to the man, who caught it deftly in his left hand. The sheriff looked at it, then put it in his pocket.

“Hey!” James protested.

“You’ll get it back…when I’m sure it’s yours.”

James was going to protest again, but a groan from Rigoberto Colon changed his mind.

“My friend needs a doctor.”

“He’s with you?”

“Yes.”

“Also a deputy?”

“No, he’s just…with me.”

“Part of your posse, I suppose?”

“That’s right.”

“Sheriff,” one of the deputies said, “they’re both dead.”

“That one killed that one,” James said, pointing, “and I killed him.”

“Who are they?” the sheriff asked.

“Can we get him to a doctor, please?” James asked.

The sheriff relented and said to the deputy, “All right, Hal, take him over to the doc.”

“You don’t want me to stay—”

“Just walk him to the doc’s.”

“Yes, sir.”

As the deputy bent over to help Colon up, the sheriff said, “And take his gun!”

“Yes, sir.”

The lawman turned his attention back to James. “You know these two?”

“The one in front of the hotel is probably Simon Jacks.”

“Jacks?”

“You know him?”

“I’ve heard of him. And the other one?”

“I don’t know him.”

“Then why did you kill him?”

James took a deep breath. “I didn’t kill him,” he said, “I killed Jacks—if it is Jacks.”

“You’re not sure?”

“No, I’m not.”

“But you killed him anyway.”

“He shot my…my partner.”

“Sheriff?” It was the other deputy.

“Yeah, Ted.”

“That one by the door, his gun was empty.”

“It wasn’t empty,” James said, “he just fired all his shots.”

“That means it was empty,” the sheriff said.

“I didn’t know that when I fired back.”

“Ted, get some men to help get these fellas off the street,” Dean said. “I’m gonna take the…the deputy here over to the office. See if anybody knows who they are.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ask the desk clerk,” Dean said. “Maybe one of them is a registered guest.”

“I can’t do that, Sheriff.”

“Why not?”

“Uh, the clerk’s dead.”

Sheriff Dean looked at James.

“Don’t look at me,” James said. “I didn’t kill him. I never went inside.”

“Okay,” the sheriff said, “okay, just get the bodies off the street, Ted.”

“Yes, Sheriff.”

“All right, Deputy,” Dean said. “Walk ahead of me and we’ll finish discussing this in my office.”