“Shoot at us,” Emrys said.

  Clint nodded.

  “Or follow us to see where we’re staying.”

  “And what will we do?”

  “If he wants to follow us,” Clint said, “we’ll let him.”

  “And if he wants to shoot us?”

  Clint looked at the magician.

  “Then I’ll shoot back.”

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  At the last minute, Morley decided to stay in the shadows and not move. Darkness had already fallen. The Devil’s disciple might feel him there.

  When they left the Magnolia Café, he followed them, but only with his eyes. They walked down Main Street. He craned his neck to keep them in sight as they walked in and out of the circles of light thrown by the streetlamps.

  Finally, he saw them stop and go into a hotel. He waited a long time before leaving his hiding place.

  • • •

  “He did not follow us,” Emrys said in the hotel lobby.

  “I didn’t feel him either.”

  “Oh, I felt him,” Emrys said, “watching. But he did not follow.”

  “Well, if he watched us, then he can figure out where we’re staying.”

  “So what now?”

  “I’ll take a look from my window,” Clint said. “Meanwhile—”

  “Stay away from my window,” Emrys said. “Yes, I know.”

  “If he’s out there,” Clint said, “I’ll go out the back and see if I can sneak up on him and say hello.”

  “At which time you will let me know, yes?”

  “Yes,” Clint said, “I will.”

  They went up to the second floor and split up in the hall.

  • • •

  Emrys went up to his room, sat on the bed, calmed himself, and closed his eyes. In his head he saw Clint Adams in his room, moving toward the window . . .

  • • •

  Clint stood to the side and peered out his window, which overlooked Main Street. It was dark, and while the street was lined with streetlamps, they threw as many shadows as they did circles of light.

  He watched for a good half hour. If there was a man across the street, he was very good at staying still. Clint did not even see the glowing tip of a cigarette, which might have been a giveaway.

  He continued to watch . . .

  • • •

  Morley felt powerful.

  He felt as if his body had been invaded by another spirit, one who kept him calm, collected . . . and invisible.

  What if his battle with the Devil and his disciple—had become known in Heaven, and an Angel had been sent to earth to bond with him, and help him in his fight?

  He felt as if he could see and smell everything so clearly!

  If the disciple could work for the Devil, then why couldn’t Ed Morley work for God?

  • • •

  Emrys knew the man was there, but there was something different about him. It did not feel as if he was a normal man. Something had changed. Something he should probably have warned Clint about, but if he did, then his friend would surely think he was mad . . .

  • • •

  Clint wondered if the man was gone.

  How could anyone stay still for so long? Even if he was in the dark across the street, his instincts could usually pick up some kind of movement.

  Where the hell was he?

  • • •

  But Morley had never believed in God.

  Neither had he ever thought much about the Devil, until recently.

  He wanted a cigarette, but didn’t dare light one. It would be a dead giveaway to his position, if anyone was watching.

  He was in the doorway of a store that had closed hours earlier. He’d been standing for some time and where, in the past, he may have had to flex his legs to keep them from cramping, he was fine now. He could have stood this way for hours more.

  He just didn’t feel like the same man. Certainly the same man who had shot the priest, but not the same man who had left Ten Sleep.

  • • •

  Clint decided to go out and see what he could find.

  He left his room, went down the stairs. In the lobby the clerk was dozing, his head down on the desk. Clint sneaked past him and took a back hallway to the rear of the hotel. He found the back door, and went out.

  He was in a darkened alley, stood still for a while until his eyes had adjusted to the dark. When he could see, he worked his way along to a side alley, and then to the mouth of it.

  Main Street was quiet, nobody walking back and forth. He could hear sounds from the saloon down the street. He slid from the alley, moved away from the hotel for half a block, then crossed over to the other side. From there he began to work his way back in the direction of the hotel until he was near the doorway right across from it. He still could not see anyone.

  He made his final move, which was to move quickly to the doorway, trying to catch the watcher by surprise.

  Three darkened doorways of three closed stores, and they were all empty.

  Nobody was there?

  Nobody had ever been there?

  Or somebody had been there, but was gone now?

  • • •

  It was amazing.

  Morley instinctively knew that someone was coming for him. He was able to leave his hiding place and move farther down the street, toward the saloon. From there he watched and waited, finally saw a shadow moving toward his former hiding place.

  The Gunsmith?

  He was so tempted to just step out into a nearby circle of light and try him, but he was only the secondary target. The magician—the Devil’s disciple—he was the main target.

  So he remained where he was and watched . . .

  • • •

  Disappointed—and more confused than he’d been in some time—Clint crossed to the hotel and went back inside. The clerk was still asleep with his head on the desk. Clint went up to the second floor and knocked on Emrys’s door.

  “He was gone,” Clint said, “or he was never there.”

  “He was there,” Emrys said. “Come in.”

  “We need to turn in,” Clint said, “get an early start tomorrow to obtain that permit.”

  “Come in,” Emrys said again. “There are some things I should tell you.”

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Clint entered the room, wondering if the magician was finally going to truly tell him something about himself.

  But he never could have guessed what it would be.

  “I do not think the man who is watching us and following us is a man.”

  “What? If he’s not a man, then what is he, Emrys? And for that matter, what are you?”

  “I am a man,” Emrys said. “Perhaps not from here, and perhaps not a man like any other you have ever met, but a man nevertheless.”

  “Okay,” Clint said, “that’s damned unclear. So what is he?”

  “He may have started out as a man, but I believe he has become obsessed.”

  “Obsessed?” Clint asked. “With what? You?”

  “Not with what,” Emrys said, “by what?”

  “Emrys,” Clint said, “you’re making no sense to me at all.”

  “I am just trying to say that you should be careful with this man,” Emrys said. “I know that you have never found anyone faster than yourself with a gun, but this man . . . he is not normal.”

  “He’s not normal,” Clint said. “You are a man unlike any other man, but still a man. Hey, I got it.”

  “Did you find him out there?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “And yet he was there. What does that tell you?”

  “That I’m getting old.”

  “And if you want to get any older,” Emrys said, “you will heed my warnings.”

  “We better turn in,” Clint said. “We’ve got to get you set up for your show tomorrow.”

  Clint left Emrys’s room, convinced that the magician was never going to speak plainly to him.

  In fact, he was probably incapable of that.

  • • •

  After Clint left his room, Emrys wondered if he should have spoken more plainly to the man. Would he have been able to understand and, more important, accept?

  Probably not. It was probably better to leave it the way it stood.

  • • •

  Morley decided the deed needed to be done the next day. He would turn in for the night, and wake up ready and willing to do what he had to do to slay the Devil’s disciple.

  He turned and walked away from the hotel, into the dark.

  • • •

  In the morning, Clint and Emrys fetched the wagon from the livery, hooked it up to the mare, and took it over to the lot. While they were setting up, Sheriff Baker came walking by.

  “The word’s gotten out already,” he said to them. “You’re gonna have a crowd.”

  “We have not even sold any tickets yet,” Emrys said.

  “Well then, you better get out there before the folks start showin’ up.”

  Neither Clint nor Baker saw where Emrys had gotten the handful of tickets he was holding out to Clint. One moment his hand was empty, and the next moment they were there.

  Clint took the tickets, shaking his head.

  “That was amazing,” Baker said.

  “He’s just a big show-off.”

  “Come on,” Baker said, “I’ll show you the best places to get rid of those tickets.”

  • • •

  With the sheriff’s guidance, Clint was able to get rid of all the tickets in just over an hour. The performance was scheduled for three, which gave them a little over two hours to finish setting up.

  Baker walked Clint back to the site to see that some people had already begun to gather.

  “I’ll move them back,” he said. “If they stand around waitin’ too long, there’s bound to be some trouble.”

  “Appreciate that, Sheriff.”

  As the sheriff walked away, Clint approached the wagon, which was closed up tight. Emrys was nowhere to be seen, so he was obviously inside.

  “Emrys!” Clint called out.

  When there was no answer, he knocked on the doors of the wagon, then heard the footsteps from inside. He was determined not to let the echoing sound of those steps play on his mind.

  The doors opened and Emrys appeared.

  “The tickets are sold,” Clint told him.

  “Very good,” the magician said. “You have done your part, so now I must do mine.”

  “Is there anything else you want me to do?” Clint asked.

  “No,” Emrys said, “unless you can make sure to keep us alive.”

  “That will be my priority.”

  “Excellent.”

  Emrys went back into the wagon, closing the doors behind him. Moments later the side of the wagon came down to form a stage.

  The people who were milling about began to clap their hands in anticipation. The sheriff finally stepped aside and just allowed the crowd to close around the wagon.

  • • •

  Morley moved in among the crowd, having changed from his trail clothes into some newer duds he’d bought from the mercantile. He was wearing a jacket, and also had a new gun and shoulder holster beneath it. Some of the money he had used to purchase these items had come from the poor box at the church. After he’d killed the priest, he robbed the box. There wasn’t much there, but it had been enough.

  He took up position in the center of the crowd, his arm folded across his chest, waiting for the show to begin.

  THIRTY-NINE

  Clint stood stage right. From there he could watch Emrys, and the crowd as well. Emrys mesmerized his audience with feats of magic like levitation, making items disappear and reappear, and causing items to appear in people’s pockets. Clint was watching very closely, but could not see how the man was doing it.

  But he was also watching the crowd, alert for anyone with a gun, so he might have missed something. He must have missed something, for there was no way Emrys could be doing those things without some sort of trick.

  • • •

  Morley watched the performance and, despite himself, was amazed. The things that the magician was doing convinced him that he truly was dealing with a disciple of the Devil. There was no other way he could be making those things happen. He made a gun disappear, he made it float, and he made playing cards appear in the pockets of people in the crowd. Unless those people were working with him—but how could they be? The magician was a stranger in this town. Just like Morley was.

  The Devil’s work.

  • • •

  By the time Emrys came to the end of his act, no one had stepped forward with a gun and tried to kill him. Maybe, Clint thought, the next performance.

  After the sheriff had dispersed the crowd, Clint once again knocked on the back doors of the wagon.

  “Folks are gone,” he said when Emrys opened the doors. “You want to get something to eat?”

  “Yes,” Emrys said, “I am very hungry.”

  He stepped down, having removed his robe and left it behind.

  “He did not make an attempt this time,” the magician said as they walked. “Perhaps later this afternoon.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Clint said.

  They walked to town, stopped in a café to eat, where people waved to them, recognizing them from the performance.

  “I now find performing in this town questionable,” Emrys said. “I do not like being recognized wherever I go.”

  “Then you might try leaving that derby hat in your wagon in the future.”

  Emrys frowned, touched his hat, then removed it and put it on a nearby chair.

  They ordered steaks, Emrys having decided it was all he liked to eat when they weren’t on the trail.

  They were halfway through their meal when Sheriff Baker appeared in the doorway. He spotted them and crossed the room to join them.

  “Have a seat, Sheriff,” Clint invited him.

  “Don’t mind if I do.” The lawman sat down and looked at Emrys. “That was some show you put on.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Those were really some amazing tricks.”

  Emrys didn’t respond.

  “He doesn’t like them to be called tricks,” Clint said.

  “Oh,” Baker said, “Sorry. What should I call them?”

  “He just likes it to be called . . . magic.”

  “Oh,” Baker said, “okay, magic. It was amazing magic.” Baker leaned close to Clint. “How does he make things float like that?”

  “I have no idea,” Clint said.

  “Have you made any progress in finding out who killed the priest?” Emrys asked, changing the subject.

  “I haven’t,” Baker said. “All I know is whoever did it also robbed the poor box.”

  “Is it a wealthy church?” Emrys asked.

  “Not at all,” Baker said. “It’s very poor. The old priest said there was hardly any money in the box.”

  “That is too bad,” Emrys said.

  “Guess your man either wasn’t there for the show, or decided not to make a try this time,” Baker said.

  “I’ll be watching the crowd this afternoon real close,” Clint told him.

  “Well, I’ll be there, too, watching,” Baker said. He leaned close to Clint again. “I wanna see if I can figure out how he does them tri—I mean, that magic.”

  • • •

  Morley decided there was only one place you could kill a disciple of the Devil.

  In church.

  That meant that, somehow, he had to get the magician to the church. And if possible, alone.

  • • •

  The second show went off without a hitch. No sign of a gun in anyone’s hand. Emrys’s magic amazed and bewildered everyone, including Clint.

  He couldn’t watch too closely, though. Just in case there was a gun in the crowd. So he still didn’t know how the magician did it. Maybe one day he’d find out, but not today.

  Not today.

  • • •

  Morley went to the church. There were no parishioners praying this time. None working on the outside of the church. Seated in the front pew was a white-haired priest. As Morley approached, the man turned his heavily lined face to the younger man. He had blue eyes that were a startling contrast to his dry, leathery skin and white hair.

  “Can I help you?”

  “You the priest?”

  “I am.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Father Damon.”

  “Well, Father,” Morley said, “I do need some help from you.”

  “That is why I’m here, my son,” Father Damon said. He stood. He was old and brittle, but still tall. “What is it you need?”

  “I need your help, Father,” Morley said, “to kill the Devil’s disciple.”

  • • •

  Clint and Emrys moved the wagon back to the livery, and while Clint returned to the hotel, the magician climbed into the wagon and cleaned up after the show. He was inside when someone knocked on the doors.

  Emrys opened them, saw a dirty little boy of about ten standing there.

  “Can I help you, boy?”

  The boy stared up at him in awe, his eyes wide. He was obviously frightened out of his wits.

  “Come on, boy,” Emrys said. “Speak up.”

  “Father Damon sent me.”

  “Father Damon?”

  “Yessir. He’s the onliest priest we got now that Father Nathan’s dead.”

  “And what does Father Damon want with me?”

  “It ain’t him, sir,” the boy said. “It’s the other man. The one with the gun.”

  “A man with a gun? At the church?”

  “Yessir.”

  “What does he want?”

  “He wants you, mister.”

  “Me?”

  “He told me to go and get the magician,” the boy said. Then with a frown, he added, “An’ he said somethin’ about you bein’ the Devil’s de—desci—decible?”