Note: This is a novelette, at something over 12000 words. For that reason, I chose to publish it here in two parts. If you missed Part I, you can find it Here.
4
Fifteen miles east of Dalton, the train sounded its whistle, slowed and chugged into a water station. Black smoke billowed up out of the stack. The whistle sounded again, the plume of steam rending the latest puff of smoke.
The engine was black with a broad yellow stripe along the side. The rods and wheels were steel black too, except along the edges of the wheels. They were silver, polished from long contact with the track.
The rest of the train consisted of a coal car, a passenger car, two freight cars, a stock car and the caboose. All the cars other than the coal car were varying shades of faded red, except near the top where the smoke had bathed them all in soot.
In the rear of the passenger car, Charley Pilsen stood and stretched. He adjusted the Remington revolver on his right hip and glanced over the other passengers. They had thinned out considerably since Little Rock.
About halfway toward the front on the left were two businessmen, judging from their suits. Bankers at least. Gentlemen. Each of them was reading something. The one on the left looked out through the window for a moment, then went back to his reading.
Two rows ahead of them were a woman and a man with a little girl between them. She looked to be about seven years old. The man was wearing an off-white shirt and a bowler hat. His suspenders were stretched up over his shoulders. The woman was in a plain dress. Probably a farmer and his wife and daughter.
Across the aisle and one row farther forward were two other women, smiling and talking quietly.
All decent, upright citizens. Bless their hearts.
He put a hand against the back of the seat in front of him, then turned slightly to the right. He stooped to look through the windows. Nothing much to see but a few mesquites, a little creosote, some bland green sage.
No station. Not even a platform. Good.
He picked up his saddle bags from the seat next to his and took one step into the aisle.
The train shifted and he grabbed the back of the seat to steady himself.
“Mister, there ain’t nowhere to get off here.”
Pilsen turned around.
The porter was standing in the aisle. His gaze flicked to the revolver on Pilsen’s right hip, then up to Pilsen’s face. “What I mean, suh, this here is only a water station.” He glanced at the revolver again, then back to Pilsen’s face again. “Our next reg’lar stop is Dalton, suh. About another fi’teen miles up the line.” He frowned slightly, then averted his gaze.
Pilsen had seen that same look a hundred times. He smiled and spoke with a smooth southern drawl. “Yes, I do understand, surely. However, I will be getting off here. And I’ll need my horse from the stock car.” He held up a five dollar gold piece. “If you would be so kind?”
The porter’s eyes grew wide. He took the gold piece, then touched the brim of his cap. “Yas suh!” He gestured toward the door at the back of the car. “If you’d care to step down, suh, I got to talk to the engineer. Then I’ll meet you at the stock car, suh.”
“May I inquire as to your name?”
“Oh. My given name’s George, suh.” He grinned. “My mama named me after General Washington.”
“Very well. Thank you. And may I call you George?”
“Oh, yas suh.”
“Thank you kindly. As I suspect you already know, my name is Mr. Pilsen. Now George, since you’re going to speak with the engineer, perhaps you could ask him to accompany you to the stock car? I’d like to meet him.”
“Yas suh. I can do that.”
“Thank you.” Pilsen stepped aside to allow the man to pass, then glanced at the passengers again.
They were still involved in their own pursuits.
He opened the door at the rear of the car and stepped through, then closed it behind him.
He grabbed the side rail and leaned forward, looking along the length of the train toward the back first, then to the front.
The porter was just stepping down from the locomotive. The engineer followed a moment later.
Pilsen swung himself down and waited.
As the two approached, the engineer said, “George has to inform me when anyone’s gettin’ off the train. But you could have gone on ahead, Mr. Pilsen.”
Pilsen nodded. “Yes, I know. Thank you.” Then he looked at the porter and smiled. “But you did recognize me, George, didn’t you?”
The porter looked at him for a moment, then nodded. “Yas suh. But I wouldn’a tried nothin’. An’ I wouldn’a said nothin’ neither.” He paused for a moment as he walked past Pilsen. Without looking back he said, “Don’t see no future in it.”
Pilsen looked at the engineer. “Good man, that George. And smart. I’d rather not risk his life. Or yours.”
The engineer looked at him, then nodded. “Yes sir, I understand.”
Pilsen grinned and nodded. “Good, good.” The two of them followed the porter to the stock car.
The engineer helped the porter affix the ramp, then waited alongside Pilsen.
When the porter led Pilsen’s horse down the ramp, it was already saddled.
As Pilsen hefted his saddle bags and put them in place, he said, “Now then, how long does the train usually remain at a water station, George?”
The porter glanced at the engineer, then back to Pilsen. “Depends on how much they need to take on, suh. But at this here station, usually about fi’teen minutes.”
The engineer nodded.
“Very well.” Pilsen turned to look at the porter. “Now then, do you have a pocket watch?”
The porter frowned. “Yes suh. All us porters carries a pocket watch.”
Pilsen nodded. “Check the time, please.”
The porter looked. “It’s 5:20, suh, on the dot.”
“Thank you. Now then, I’d like very much for both of you to do us all a favor, all right?”
“Yes suh.”
The engineer nodded.
“Good. I want you both to go into the stock car please. Go to the back corner. You are to wait there until 5:30. Then you may come out.”
“Suh?”
“It wouldn’t be healthy for either of you or good for my soul if you were to come out before then. If you take my meaning.”
“Oh. Yes suh. Right away, suh.”
The engineer said, “Yes sir.”
Pilsen nodded. “Good men.”
When the two had disappeared into the stock car, Pilsen mounted. He rode around the back of the caboose, then headed due north.
* * *
Charley Pilsen rode due north from the train, mostly at an easy canter, for close to an hour before he turned west.
The porter said Dalton was fifteen miles from the water station. To be safe, he rode another three hours to the west, alternating the gait of his horse from a walk to a gentle canter.
The sun was high overhead when he turned south again. He took it easy. It wasn’t like there was any great rush. Not now. And there was no telling what he might find when he got to Dalton.
The telegram said his brother was killed in a saloon in Dalton. Nothing more.
How in the hell had it happened? Johnny was the only good one of the bunch. It seemed like everything was coming unraveled.
Had Villareal or his men done something stupid?
If they had, they might well be in jail.
Then again, he was certain the Billy who sent the telegram must be mixed up in everything.
He needed information. Much as he hated to bother Mary, at the moment it was his only option.
A little after 2 p.m. he turned his horse to the southwest and rode toward his brother’s farm.
* * *
As he rode up to the front of the house, he called out, “Hello the house!”
He reined-in and looked around for a moment.
The place seemed deserted. Even the windmill, slowly turning in the almost nonexistent breeze, seemed quiet. The right bay door on the barn was open slightly, as if Johnny had just walked in and would be out momentarily. He’d shut that before he left.
Maybe Mary was gone too. A woman alone wouldn’t fare well in this country. But where would she go? He wasn’t sure she had relatives in the area. In fact, he hadn’t known her well enough to know where she was from originally.
He dismounted and hitched his horse to a porch support, then crossed the porch and knocked on the door. He waited for a moment, then knocked again. After he waited for another moment, finally he worked the crude wooden latch and opened the door.
The place was crude, but neat. Two handmade wooden chairs set toward the front left corner of the room. On a small table between them was a worn copy of the bible. Johnny all over again. A kerosene lantern was set on a small shelf that extended from the corner above them.
In the back left corner was a door that led to the bedroom.
Across the room to the right was a small table with two more chairs. Beyond that was the stove and a counter with a large wash basin on top. Above the counter were open cupboards.
It was rough all around, but Mary had at least hung curtains in the windows. Her attempt to lend a woman’s touch.
Maybe someone was in the back room. The bedroom.
He called, “Hello?”
No response.
Then boots were coming across the porch.
He turned and drew his revolver just as the door opened.
It was Jackson, the black man who occasionally helped Johnny get his crops in. As he released the door, he looked up and raised both hands in the air, his eyes wide. “Whoa!”
Charlie nodded, then holstered his Remington. “Hi Jackson. Mary around anywhere?”
Jackson lowered his hands. “Oh, no suh. We heard maybe you was comin’ to town. Only it’s been awhile since— Well, you know. Since Johnny. So she lef’.”
“Yes, it took a bit longer than I expected. So where’s Mary again?”
“Oh. Well, like I said, she left’, suh. Day after they put Johnny in the ground.” He shook his head. “That Johnny was a good boy. Anyhow, she said she was through wid’ all this. She headed for St. Louis I think. I guess she got family back there.”
“I see.” Charlie looked at the floor for a moment. Then he looked up. “What happened, Jackson? I wired to tell Johnny I was comin’ for a visit, and the next thing I knew I got a telegram sayin’ he’d been killed. And that’s all I know.”
“Yes sir.” Jackson gestured toward the table. “Say, you mind if I sit myself down? I jus’ come in to get outta the heat fo’ a little while. Then I seen your horse an’—”
“Certainly, certainly.” Charlie gestured. “Please, have a seat.”
“I ‘preciate it.” He settled into a chair at the dining table.
Charlie sat down in the other chair. He crossed his left knee over his right, then set his hat on his knee. “So what happened?”
Jackson shrugged. “It was the strangest thing. Now Johnny, he wasn’t no rabble-rouser or nothin’, you know, like—” He started to gestured toward Charlie, but caught himself and lowered his hand. “Well, he jus’ wasn’t. But one night he stayed in at the saloon. That’d be about a week ago. Las’ Thursday, I believe.”
Charlie nodded. “That’s when I got the telegram.”
“Yes suh. Anyway, what I heard, some’a the men in there was makin’ some comments about you. An’ Johnny, I guess he was pretty deep in his cups. He started hollerin’ about nobody could outshoot no Pilsen, even him. An’ then I guess he was puttin’ on a display. You know, shootin’ at some shot glasses or somethin’.
“Well, the long an’ short of it was, he kil’t ol’ Zeke Masters dead. It was a accident, what I was told. But then after that the marshal kil’t Johnny.”
“He ambush him?”
“No suh. What they said, he kep’ tellin’ Johnny to put down his gun so’s they could talk things over. But then Johnny hollered somethin’ about the marshal wantin’ to kill you. Then Johnny rushed him.”
He shook his head. “No suh, I reckon the marshal didn’t have no choice.” He put up one hand. “Way I heard it, at leas’.”
Charlie nodded. So his brother, the only really good thing his parents had ever made, had died defending him. “All right. Thanks, Jackson.”
“Yes suh. I wish I could do more to help.”
“So do I.” He stood up, then turned and started for the door, then stopped and turned around. “Say, do you know Manny Villareal? Skinny, mean-lookin’ Mexican fella?”
“Oh, yes suh. I mean, I don’t know him, but I heard the name. He was one who was there that night.”
“Anybody with him?”
“Yes suh. Two men, what I heard. Well, three, really. One big’un an’ another one was at the table with him. White kid ‘bout as skinny as the Mexican.” He scowled. “When Johnny started doin’ all that shootin’, they turned up a table an’ hid behind it. An’ then there was a fella named Red somethin’ or other. Faro dealer. I guess he threw in with the Mexican too.”
“You don’t know where I can find any of them, do you?”
“Oh, yes suh. Two of ‘em’s in the boneyard. That’d be the Mexican an’ the Faro dealer. What I heard, they drew on the marshal an’ he put ‘em down. But they’ way on the opposite end of where they laid Johnny. The other two, that’d be the big’un an’ the skinny white boy, the marshal locked up both of ‘em.”
“For what?”
“I don’t rightly know, suh. Jus’ what I heard.”
“Huh. In jail.” Charlie looked at the floor for a moment. “Well, I guess I have a few hours to kill. You mind if I stay around a bit?”
“No suh. Ain’t my place to say anyway. I was jus’ out here tendin’ to stock an’ all that. But I know Johnny’d like to have seen you. He was lookin’ forward to the visit.”
Pilsen frowned. “Stock?”
“Yes suh. Three horses an’ a milk cow. They’s all out in the barn right now. I was feedin’ ‘em when I come up to sit fo’ awhile.”
“All right. Listen, Jackson. Take care of ‘em out here for now, all right? Say for a week? And then you take the horses and the cow with you. They’re yours. Keep ‘em, sell ‘em, or whatever you want to do. All right?”
“That’s generous of you, Mr. Pilsen. Thank you, suh.”
“Well, I guess I’m the only family Johnny had, and I don’t need ‘em. I’m gonna go stretch out for a couple hours. Anybody asks, you haven’t seen me, all right?”
“Yes suh. I ain’t seen nobody.”
“Well, I mean just ‘til after I’m gone. Then you can let ‘em know I said you could have the stock. In fact, I’ll sign a paper for you.”
Jackson grinned. “Thank you, Mr. Pilsen.”
Charlie nodded, then crossed the room and pushed open the door that led to the bedroom.
5
Not quite an hour after Charlie Pilsen disembarked, the train pulled into the station at Dalton.
The solitary figure in the chair on the platform leaned forward, then stood. He watched as each passenger disembarked.
Two gentlemen in business suits came down the steps first. They were talking quietly with each other.
As they turned and walked toward the far end of the platform, Jim Tryant and his wife Melissa stepped down, followed by their daughter. They were talking too. Melissa laughed at something her husband said just as he looked up and saw the marshal.
“Oh, hello, Marshal. We’re just back from visiting Melissa’s mother. Her little brother is some kind’a card.” He frowned. “You expectin’ someone today?”
The marshal tipped his hat to Melissa, then looked at Jim and grinned. “Seems like I’m waiting for someone pretty much all the time. We’ll see, I guess.” He laughed lightly.
Jim nodded. “Well, I hope it’s nothing bad. Should we hang around?”
“No no. Nothing bad.” He touched the front of the brim of his hat. “You folks enjoy your day.”
As the small family walked toward the buggy they’d left parked at the station a few days earlier, two women came down the steps from the train.
The marshal started toward them just as the porter stepped down, still clinging to the side rail. “One minute to all aboard, folks.”
One of the women looked over her shoulder, then shook her head and said something to the other one. The two of them turned and walked past the porter up the steps.
The marshal approached the porter. “Excuse me.” He glanced in the direction of the two men in suits. They had reached the far end of the platform, then turned and started back toward the train.
“Yas suh?
“Are there any other passengers on the train? I mean other than those two women and these two men?”
“Oh, no suh. ‘Cept there was a man an’ his wife an’ little girl. But they done lef’.”
“All right. Thanks.” He turned away to leave, then stopped and turned back.
The two men were moving up the steps past the porter.
“Porter, was anyone else on the train since the last stop? Maybe got off by himself somewhere?”
“Since the las’ stop? Oh, no suh. It’d be dangerous, gettin’ off a movin’ train.”
Gibson nodded. “I guess it would at that. Okay, thanks again.”
So unless Billy was lying, Pilsen would be in on tomorrow’s train. And Billy wasn’t smart enough to lie.
He turned to walk back to his office.
* * *
The marshal checked on Billy, then went to his desk and sat down. He leaned down and opened the bottom left drawer.
The door burst open and a boy ran in. He stopped in front of the desk. “You the marshal?”
Gibson nodded. “Yes sir. What can I do for you?”
“I got a note for you, sir.” He grabbed the waistband of his trousers with his left hand as he reached into his right front pocket with his right. “It’s from the man who drives the train.”
The marshal frowned. “The porter?”
“No sir. The man in front.”
“Oh, the engineer.”
The boy nodded. Finally he tugged a slip of paper out of his pocket and handed it to the marshal.
“Thanks.” The marshal reached into his shirt pocket and took out a small coin. He handed it to the boy.
The boy looked at it, his eyes wide. “Thanks, Marshal!” He grinned and turned for the door.
“Wait.”
The boy stopped and turned around. “Yes sir?”
“Isn’t the train already gone?”
“Yes sir.”
“All right. Thanks.”
The boy turned and left as the marshal opened the note and read it.
So Charlie Pilsen was on the train. He got off with his horse at the water station an hour before town.
But the porter said—
No, the porter said nobody had gotten off since the last stop. And he hadn’t asked the man whether anyone got off at the last stop. The marshal grinned. Probably the porter had recognized Pilsen.
He wished he knew how fast the train could move. How far away was that water station? Twelve miles? Fifteen? It was at least a two-hour ride.
So Billy was telling the truth after all.
The marshal got up and walked toward the cells.
Both Billy and Cecil lay on their bunks. Billy was facing the back wall. Cecil lay on his back.
“Hey Billy, Cecil. Wake up.”
Both men stirred. Without opening his eyes, Cecil said, “Is it time for breakfast yet?”
“How’d you like to eat breakfast over at the hotel?”
Cecil swung his legs off the bed and sat up.
Billy rolled over, still rubbing his eyes. “What?”
“I said how’d you like to get outta here.”
Billy twisted around and sat up. “What’re you talkin’ about?”
“Simple. I’m lettin’ you go. Both of you. You just have to answer one question for me.”
Cecil said, “There it is. I knew there was a catch.” He flopped back on the bunk and draped his left forearm over his eyes.
The marshal looked at Cecil. “I just want to know whether you know Charlie Pilsen. Have you ever done a job with him?”
Billy got up. He clenched his fists around the bars of his cell. “No sir. I ain’t ever worked with him. I ain’t ever even met him. I never heard his name until Manny told us he was gonna send him a telegram. That was last week. The night before all the ruckus.”
The marshal nodded. “Good. Go on.”
“There ain’t nothin’ else. Manny said he had a job for me if I wanted it. Said the guy’d pay really well. All I had to do was come along with Manny and Cecil and wait for Mr. Pilsen to get here.”
“You know what the job was?”
“The job?”
“What he hired you to do. Was he gonna hit a bank, rob a train? What?”
“Oh. No sir. I don’t think Manny even knew. He said Mr. Pilsen would tell us all that when he got here.”
The marshal nodded, then glanced at Cecil again. “How about you? I already know you never rode with Pilsen. You have any idea what he was gonna do out here?”
Cecil moved his forearm from over his eyes and rolled his head over to look at the marshal. “Nah. Like the kid said, I don’t think Manny even knew.”
The marshal inserted the key and opened Billy’s cell. “All right. You’re free to go. There’s only one requirement. You listenin’?”
“Yes sir.”
“You get on your horse and head east or south. Don’t look back and don’t come back. Understood? If I ever see you again, all bets are off. Understand?”
“Due east. Yes sir. Can I go now?”
The marshal nodded and stepped back. He gestured. “Go ahead.”
Billy stepped out of the cell and headed for the door.
The marshal said, “Hey, you forgettin’ somethin’?”
Billy stopped and turned around. “I don’t think so.”
“You want you gun?”
“No sir. You keep it. I’m through with it.”
The marshal nodded. Then he turned to Cecil. “How about you? Have you ever met Charlie Pilsen?”
Cecil sat up, his hands gripping the edge of the bunk. He shook his head and looked at the floor. “Nah, I never met him. My story’s about the same as the kid’s. I didn’t even know Villareal all that long. I met him two days before we found Billy.”
“So he was just ridin’ around looking for people to help Pilsen and him with whatever they were gonna pull?”
Cecil shrugged, still looking at the floor. “I guess. Manny told me we had to come here and wait for Pilsen. He’d tell us what was goin’ on when he got here. That’s about it.”
“You ever been in trouble with the law?”
Cecil finally looked up. “No sir. I just— I lost my wife a few months ago. I didn’t know where to go or what to do. I was kind’a lost I guess. I only knew I didn’t wanna stay around Presley anymore.”
“Presley? South’a here a few days? That Presley?”
Cecil nodded. “We had a little farm down there.” He shrugged again. “Guess I was ripe for the pickin’. Look Marshal, about before— I never been an outlaw before. I didn’t mean to—”
“I reckon you paid in full for that lesson.” He grinned. “Your head feelin’ any better?”
Cecil looked at the floor again. Quietly, he said, “Yes sir.”
The marshal said, “Where you goin’ when I let you outta here?”
“Due south. An’ no lookin’ back. But I would like to keep my gun.”
“You can have it. But the same deal goes. If I ever see you again, all bets are off.”
“Yes sir. I understand.”
“All right.” The marshal unlocked the cell, then turned and walked to his desk. He bent and opened the bottom drawer on the left, then straightened and tossed Cecil’s revolver to him.
He closed that drawer, then opened the smaller one above it, reached in and pulled out his fist a moment later. “Here you go.”
Cecil held out one hand.
The marshal opened his fist and dropped six .45 caliber shells into Cecil’s palm. “Don’t reload until you’re out of town.”
Cecil nodded. “Yes sir.” Then he turned and left.
The marshal sat down at his desk.
He picked up Pilsen’s wanted poster and looked at it for a moment. “Now all I have to do is wait for you to show up.”
6
In the bedroom, Charlie Pilsen stopped and looked at the wide four-poster bed. The covers were pulled up, the bed made. Complete with a patchwork quilt and two feather pillows in cases that matched the quilt. A woman’s touch.
He grinned. Probably Mary had insisted on the bed, a bit of luxury in an otherwise austere setting. And even knowing she would never return, she had made the bed before she left.
This is where his brother slept every night. Well, until a week ago.
He took off his gun belt and hung it on one post, then hung his hat on the same post.
He turned and sat on the edge of the bed. It gave under his weight, the springs squeaking lightly. He ran his hands over the thick quilt.
Definitely comfortable. He placed his palms on either side of his hips and pressed again. The feel of the mattress was inviting.
It had been a stressful week. A couple hours of rest wouldn’t hurt anything. It would feel good to stretch out on something other than a thin blanket spread on the ground.
Maybe a couple hours of rest would give the muddled, swirling thoughts in his mind a chance to calm.
Then he would decide what to do.
He leaned forward and took off his boots, then set them near the foot of the bed.
He reached back for the two pillows, fluffed them, then stacked them one on the other and positioned them just so.
Then he lay back on the bed and stretched.
The mattress was as comfortable as he thought it would be. The springs were a nice touch.
He closed his eyes. Just a couple hours of rest.
Then he’d ride into Dalton.
Things should have been different.
* * *
In the dream, the porter caught him stretching his legs in the aisle.
“Ain’t nowhere to get off here, suh.”
Charlie looked up and smiled. “No no, just stretching my legs a bit. How much farther to Dalton?”
“Oh, only about another hour, suh. ‘Bout fi’teen miles on up the line.”
Charlie nodded and settled back into his seat.
The train chugged into Dalton just under an hour later, and the porter helped him take his horse off the stock car.
He’d saddled the animal, added his bedroll and his saddle bags, then rode due west.
When he arrived at his brother’s farm, a trim, dark brunette was sweeping the broad porch with a straw broom.
And Johnny walked around the side of the house. A broad grin flashed across his face. “Well, I’ll be dang. Hey, brother! How are you? How’ve you been? It’s been what five years? Six?”
Johnny’s voice still carried the western twang that had disappeared from Charlie’s voice during his years in Georgia, Alabama and Arkansas. He hadn’t seen his brother since their mother’s funeral.
Charlie smiled as he dismounted. “Almost seven, I guess. Sorry I couldn’t make it back for Pa’s funeral.”
Johnny clapped him on the shoulder. “Aw, that’s all right. We managed. Hey, c’mon in. I’ll take the rest of the day and we’ll catch up. How long can you stay?” Then he turned away. “Hey Mary, look who’s here.”
Mary looked at him dubiously and nodded a greeting, then went into the house. She didn’t approve of his choice of lifestyle. But then she’d been raised back east somewhere.
He and Johnny talked for hours, mostly about Johnny’s life, the farm and the little town of Dalton. Not one time did Johnny ask why he was there beyond the visit.
Toward the end of the second day of visiting, Charlie said, “It’s been a good visit, but I need to ride back into Dalton in the morning to meet with some fellows. Then I’ll probably be gone for awhile.”
“Hey, that’s all right,” Johnny said, the ever-present grin on his face. “Sure good to see you, brother.”
Then it was the next morning and Charlie was on his horse in front of the house. “Guess I’ll ride into Dalton now.”
Johnny looked up at him and frowned. “You sure?”
“Yeah. I told you I have to ride into Dalton.”
Johnny said, “But why? I mean, everything’s changed hasn’t it?”
He shrugged. “I have to ride into Dalton.”
* * *
And three hours after he closed his eyes, they sprang open.
The room was darker than it had been. Probably the sun had set, though not all the light had faded from the sky yet.
Quietly, he said, “I have to ride into Dalton.”
And his brother’s words came to mind. But why? Everything’s changed hasn’t it?
Johnny always was the calm one, the reasoning one.
Yes. Yes, everything’s changed.
Still, he had to ride into Dalton.
He frowned up at the ceiling. Didn’t he? But why?
Well, for one thing, there were men waiting for him.
Well, Manny was dead and Red was dead. So the job was off. His main reason for being here was off.
Still, he could break out the other two men. The ones the marshal put in jail.
But why? He didn’t even know them. Villareal had chosen them.
And if he broke them out, then what?
Probably there would be a gunfight. One or both of them would be shot. Maybe killed. Even he might be shot or killed. And why?
He stared at the ceiling.
His main reason for being here was the job, and that was off.
Manny Villareal and his cousin were dead, so there was no way to resurrect the job.
His brother and his cousin were both buried. He’d missed the funerals by almost a week.
Johnny was dead.
So the only reason he had now to be here at all was to break two men out of jail. Two men he wouldn’t know if he passed them on the street. Two men to whom he owed nothing.
Johnny was dead, and really that’s all there was. Everything else came unraveled as a result.
At least his cousin and Manny were right for the job. They even had potential for the future, though the Mexican was a little rough around the edges. A little too pushy. A little too willing to take unnecessary risks.
Probably that’s why he was in the ground now. Probably that’s why he and Red were both in the ground. Probably the marshal saw fit to question Villareal. Jackson said he was there that night. And probably Villareal’s mouth did the rest.
In a matter of an hour—probably even in a matter of minutes—everything was off.
Johnny killed someone, then was killed himself.
Then something, probably Manny’s mouth, led to both him and Red being killed as well.
So the job was definitely off. No way could he pull it off by himself.
Even if Manny and Red were still alive, he would need at least one more gun, and he would prefer two.
But Manny and Red were in the ground. And trying a job like that with two complete unknowns was worse than trying it by himself. He’d spend all his time looking over his shoulder.
Charlie Pilsen had been accused and was guilty of many things, but stupidity was not among them.
So why again should he ride into Dalton?
He swung his legs off the bed, then reached for his boots. He tugged them on, then stood.
He looked around the bedroom for a long moment, shook his head.
Sometimes— Well, sometimes a man has to do things that don’t make sense to others.
He ran his fingers through his hair to comb it back off his forehead. He took his hat from the post and pulled it into position on his head. Then he reached for his gun belt and strapped it around his waist.
In the front room, he searched the cupboard and found a slip of paper and a pencil stub. He took a moment to write out a note assigning the stock in the barn to Jackson. If he didn’t do it now, no telling when or whether he would have another chance.
When he was through, he signed his name, laid the note on the table, then laid the pencil stub on top of it.
Outside, he took the reins from the post and mounted his horse just as Jackson came walking up from the barn.
“Evenin’, Mr. Pilsen.” He jerked one thumb over his shoulder. “Thought I’d put up some more hay an’ oats ‘afore I lef’. You headed out too?”
Charlie nodded. “Some things I guess a man’s just gotta do.”
“Yes suh. I unnerstan’ that. I surely do. Well, good luck to you, suh.”
Charlie gestured. “Oh, there’s a paper for you inside on the table.”
“Thank you, Mr. Pilsen. An’ safe travels.”
Charlie nodded, then turned his mount and rode out of the yard.
And at the road, he turned west.
* * * * * * *