He spoke to the men who had the most demanding task. They had appointed a leader recommended by Abeja, one Juan Torres.

  “Juan, here is some money. I want one of you, as quietly as you can, to go to the mercantile and buy ten gallons of red paint and six brushes, one for each of you. Then I want you to hook up two horses to the gallows and pull it to a place where you can paint every inch of it red. Get the brightest red paint they have. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Torres said.

  “And get me a half dozen of these cheroots,” Slocum said, pulling one of the thin cigars from his waistcoat. Torres laughed and snatched the cheroot from Slocum’s hand. Slocum lashed out his hand to retrieve it, but Torres held it high in the air behind his head.

  “For a sample,” he said, grinning.

  Slocum laughed and nodded his approval.

  Finally, Slocum issued the last of his instructions.

  “We will all enter the town like ghosts,” he said. “Arriving by ones and by twos so that we do not cause suspicion. Those of you who are leaders will arrange to meet at your appointed places. If we all work together, we will not fail our mission. And that mission is to finally bring justice to the city of Del Rio.

  As the men dispersed, Slocum grabbed Abeja’s arm.

  “I want to say good-bye to Carmen,” he said.

  “Well, go there,” Abeja said. “She is in your little house. She did not return home.”

  “What?”

  Abeja grinned.

  “I think she is in love with you, Slocum. There are flowers in her cheeks and a sparkle in her eye.”

  “How do you know this, and I don’t?” Slocum said.

  Abeja tapped his head.

  “Wisdom comes with age,” he said.

  Slocum grimaced and walked off to see Carmen.

  “Have my horse ready, Abeja.”

  “It will be done, Master,” Abeja chided.

  Carmen was inside the adobe. She had cleaned it up and she had brought in a bed, with help, he imagined, to replace the mat on the floor. His bedroll was neatly rolled up and sitting by the door, with his saddlebags and his rifle in its scabbard. The Greener was inside the bedroll, just the way he always packed it himself.

  “I came to say good-bye,” he said. “Abeja and I, and the others, are going to Del Rio.”

  “I know. I will be waiting here for you when you return.”

  “I hope I return.”

  “You will,” she said.

  He took her in his arms and she held on to him, squeezing him with her arms.

  “Ten cuidado,” she said. “Be careful.”

  “I will.”

  He kissed her, then picked up his gear and walked away. When he turned, she stood in the doorway. She waved at him. He waved back.

  Something tugged at his heart as he passed from her view. Carmen was the kind of woman who could grow on a man. But he didn’t plan to spend the rest of his life in Del Rio. When he had finished what he wanted to do, he would ride on, as he always did. His life was too dangerous for him to even think about having a permanent woman in it. Still, she would be one to come back to. Someday.

  Slocum and Abeja were the last to leave Hidalgo. It was still early in the morning, but the sun had burned the dew off the wildflowers and the sagebrush. Quail were piping and meadowlarks flitted from rock to rock. The lizards had not yet come out to sun themselves and the armadillos had gone to sleep in shady places to await the setting of the sun.

  “Where do we go, you and I, Slocum?” Abeja asked when they were some distance from Hidalgo and they could see the whitewashed adobes of Del Rio shining in the sunlight.

  “You and I are going to pay a visit to Sheriff Blandings.”

  “You are going to kill him?”

  “Not if he comes along peaceably, Abeja. I want him to perform one last duty in office before I deal with him.”

  “And, what is that?”

  Slocum turned to him and grinned.

  “Why Blandings and his deputy, Jones, are going to walk with us to the courthouse,” he said. “And they are going to arrest Judge Wyman.”

  “You are going to put him in the jail?”

  “No, I’m going to have Fernandez hang him. Right in front of the whole damned town.”

  Abeja grinned.

  “Tu estas loco,” he said. “You are crazy.”

  “Well,” Slocum said, “somebody’s got to be.”

  Abeja broke into laughter and he was still chuckling when they rode up to the sheriff’s office.

  The door was open. Curtis Blandings was sitting at his desk, playing a game of solitaire with a worn deck of cards. He looked up when Slocum and Abeja walked in. His jaw dropped in surprise.

  “Jonesy,” Blandings called.

  The door to the jail itself opened and Jones appeared, his face lathered with soap, a straight razor in his hand. He wasn’t wearing a gun belt.

  “Good morning, Sheriff,” Slocum said, in a voice bursting with amiability. “Jonesy. Have a seat, son.”

  “What’s your damned business here, Slocum?” Blandings asked, his hands flat on the table, covering the array of cards turned faceup.

  “I want you and your deputy, Jones, here, to come with me to the courthouse, Blandings. I’m going to make a citizen’s arrest.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Now stand up and slip off that gun belt. You won’t be needing it.”

  Jones had sat down, a dumbfounded look on his face.

  Slocum turned to him.

  “Deputy Jones, go with Abeja here and wipe the lather off your face. If you make one funny move, he’s going to blow a hole in your belly. Got that?”

  Jones started to shake. He stood up.

  Abeja aimed his rifle at Jones. He cocked it and the sound made Jones jump. He dropped the razor and it clattered to the floor.

  Slocum drew his pistol and pointed its snout at the sheriff. Blandings got up from his chair slowly and started unbuckling his gun belt.

  “Just step around your desk, Blandings.”

  As he did, Slocum leaned over the desk and waved his left arm across it. His hand scattered the cards and swept them from the desk onto the floor.

  “You were losing, anyway, Blandings,” he said.

  Blandings’s face drained of color.

  “You won’t get away with this, Slocum. You’re breaking the law. And I still don’t know who I’m supposed to arrest.”

  “You don’t? I’m surprised, Blandings. I thought you had enough brains to figure that one out.”

  “Why, there ain’t no criminals over to the courthouse. ’Sides some clerks, there’s only the bailiff.”

  “That would be my good friend, Rufus Early, I believe,” Slocum said.

  “You want me to arrest Rufus?”

  “Oh, yes. He’s a guilty man. We might even give him a fair trial.”

  “Well, if that just don’t take the cake. You arrestin’ a man of the law. It won’t hold up in court.”

  “Whose court would that be?” Slocum asked.

  “Why, Judge Wyman’s court, of course.”

  “Judge Wyman doesn’t have a court anymore.”

  “Huh?” The sheriff cocked his head, a quizzical look on his face.

  “He’s the other one,” Slocum said.

  “The other one what?”

  “The other man you’re going to arrest this morning.”

  Blandings spluttered, searching for the words that he wanted to spit out.

  “Why, you damned fool, Slocum. You’re the one who’s going to hang over this. You’re crazy.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Slocum said, a wide grin on his face.

  Abeja returned with Jones, whose face was now free of froth.

  “Gentlemen,” Slocum said. “Shall we take a walk over to the courthouse? Blandings, you lead out. I’ll be right behind you and I’ve got an awful itchy finger this morning.”

  “You son of a bitch,” Blandings said.

  “Tsk, tsk,” Slocum clicked, “let’s not bring up family matters right now.”

  Blandings walked out the door, Slocum right behind him. The sheriff looked like a very sick man.

  22

  Rufus Early, Slocum thought, took his job entirely too seriously.

  When he and Abeja approached the judge’s chambers with Blandings and Jones, Early came out from behind his desk like a storm boiling up out of the Gulf of Mexico.

  “What the hell’s going on here?” Early demanded.

  “We’re here to arrest the judge,” Blandings said, with Slocum’s pistol poking him in the back. He choked on the words.

  “You all get the hell out of here,” Early said. His hand started for his pistol.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Rufus,” Slocum said.

  “You go to hell, Slocum,” Early said, completing the move. His hand touched the walnut grips of his Smith and Wesson .38 and his fingers wrapped around the butt. He jerked the revolver from its holster and that was as far as he got.

  Slocum stepped to one side, cocked the hammer back on his .45 Colt and squeezed off a shot. The Colt bellowed and spat flame and lead. Early didn’t even have time to register a look of surprise on his face as the lead bullet hammered him in the belt buckle, blowing a clean hole through it and the softness of his protruding belly.

  Early doubled over. The pistol in his hand dangled from two fingers for a moment like an anvil hanging from a tree root at the edge of a cliff, then thudded on the floor. Blood gushed from Early’s abdomen, spilling onto his crotch as he fell to his knees. He looked up at Slocum, his face contorted in pain. His lips were working, his mouth moved, but nothing came out except a curdled gurgle that sounded like a man hawking night phlegm. He toppled over and there was a stench from him as his sphincter muscle relaxed and he voided himself in his trousers.

  “God almighty,” Jones whined. “You didn’t have to go and shoot poor old Rufus now.”

  “You want to join him, Jonesy?” Slocum said, and stepped back behind Blandings.

  Just then, the door to the judge’s chambers burst open and a young woman rushed out, a notebook in her hand. She took one look at Early and let out a high-pitched scream that curdled the blood of all within hearing distance.

  A moment later, Judge Wyman emerged, robeless, his suit rumpled, his string tie askew, his eyes popped out like a pair of squeezed marbles.

  Wyman took in the scene at a glance, and his face puffed out and turned a rosy hue. His neck swelled like a bull in the rut and the veins stood out on his temples like blue worms.

  “What in blazing hell is going on out here?” Wyman roared.

  “Blandings, arrest the judge. Put his hands behind his back and cuff him,” Slocum ordered.

  Blandings hesitated.

  Wyman glared at Slocum.

  “Have you lost your senses, Mr. Slocum?” Wyman said.

  “I’m arresting you for murder and conspiracy to commit murder,” Slocum said. “In the name of the people of Del Rio.”

  Slocum prodded Blandings in the back with the muzzle of his pistol. Blandings fiddled with the pair of handcuffs hanging from his belt. They unsnapped and he stepped forward.

  “Sorry, Judge Wyman,” the sheriff said. “Slocum’s got a gun at my back.”

  Wyman started to turn and go back into his office, fixing Blandings with a sharp look of contempt.

  “You take one more step, Wyman,” Slocum said, “and you won’t have to hang. I’ll put your lights out here and now.”

  Wyman turned savagely and glared at Slocum. He looked down at the body of Early.

  “You’ve already committed murder here, Slocum. That’s a hanging offense. You can’t get away with this. Even if I declare you insane, which you most probably are, the townsfolk would string you up to the nearest cottonwood tree.”

  “A lot you know about the townsfolk, Wyman. Blandings, put those handcuffs on the judge or you’ll join Early there on the floor.”

  The judge fumed, but he evidently knew Slocum meant business because he submitted to Blandings, turning around, and putting both hands behind him. The sheriff snapped on the cuffs and locked them.

  “Now what?” Blandings asked.

  “Back to the jail, for a while,” Slocum said.

  Slocum and Abeja locked Wyman, Blandings and Jones up in separate cells, then locked the sheriff’s office and hung a sign on it that read CLOSED.

  Slocum untied Ferro’s reins at the hitchrail in front of the sheriff’s office. Abeja was already mounted on his burro.

  “Follow me,” Slocum said, and turned down Main Street.

  They then met up with others in Slocum’s band of Hidalgans, who had slipped into town and were waiting at various places along the main street. He looked up in the sky and measured the sun’s passage across the heavens. He had time; everything had gone fairly smoothly, so far.

  “Now, what?” Abeja asked.

  “Two of these men can guard the jail, but they don’t have to be right out in front. Just tell them to keep an eye out for anyone trying to break out our prisoners.”

  Abeja picked two men and translated Slocum’s orders into Spanish.

  “Now, we go see how the painting is coming. The other men here should go to the house of Fernandez and make sure they stay put. Do you know where Pandora and her husband live?”

  Abeja nodded. He pointed off to the north.

  “Fernandez, he have a big house at the edge of Del Rio on a little creek. He used to live in Hidalgo before he got married, and we know him. But he does not invite us to his grand house anymore.”

  “You mean not since he married Pandora,” Slocum said.

  “Not since he got the job as the hangman.”

  The gallows on wheels stood in the shade a block from Main Street where Slocum’s men had taken it. Five men were working furiously on it with brushes.

  “Just before noon,” Slocum said to Juan Torres, “haul it to the town square.”

  “The paint will not dry by then,” Juan said.

  Slocum grinned. “The wetter the better.”

  “Does it look like the blood?”

  “It sure as hell looks like blood,” Slocum said.

  Slocum and Abeja rode back to the jail. On the way, he was confronted by Vernon Cunningham, who had come rushing out of the newspaper office.

  “Mr. Slocum, hold up,” Cunningham yelled.

  Slocum reined up, as did Abeja.

  “What’s going on, Slocum? I’m hearing stories that I can’t believe!”

  “What did you hear?”

  “Judge Wyman’s secretary came dashing into my office a few minutes ago and said you had shot Bailiff Early and arrested Judge Wyman. She said you had Sheriff Blandings and his deputy, Larry Jones, at gunpoint and that they were following your orders.”

  “That’s not much of a story, Cunningham,” Slocum said. “But you be at the town square at noon if you really want a headline.”

  “What’s at the town square?”

  “Oh, the usual,” Slocum said. “A gallows and a public hanging.”

  Slocum thought the newspaper publisher was going to have a fit right there on the street.

  “Is all this true, then?”

  “Yep,” Slocum said. “Judge Wyman is cooling his heels in jail and we’re about to bring the hangman downtown to put a noose around Judge Wyman’s neck. Right out in front of God and everyone.”

  “Gawdamighty, Slocum, have you gone completely mad?”

  “Maybe,” Slocum said. “You be the judge. In fact, you may have to be. Wyman won’t be sitting in court anymore in Del Rio.”

  Slocum left Cunningham swearing a blue streak in the middle of the dirt street.

  “Go get the sheriff, Abeja,” Slocum said, when they reached the jail. “Get the sheriff’s pistol, eject all the cartridges and stick it in his holster. I’ll go out back and bring his horse out front.”

  A few minutes later, the three men were riding toward the north edge of town.

  “I hope this works,” Slocum said, as they neared the arch of the gate leading to the Fernandez house.

  “Blandings, this is as far as Abeja and I go. I want you to ride up to the house and knock on the door. Don’t go inside. Don’t tell Fernandez anything but what I tell you. If you make any false move, I’ll drop you with my Winchester. I’ll have you in sights the whole way.”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “I want you to tell Fernandez that Judge Wyman found me guilty and wants me hanged at noon today. Tell him to bring his rope.”

  “How do I know you won’t kill me anyway?”

  “Why, you’re the sheriff, aren’t you, Blandings? You’ve got to see that there’s law and order in Del Rio when this is all over. But don’t tempt me. One false move.”

  Blandings gulped and rode off as Slocum and Abeja took up positions where they could watch, but not be seen.

  Slocum saw someone come to the door after Blandings knocked. Carlos Fernandez stepped out onto the porch. A moment later, Blandings turned and left. Fernandez dashed inside the house.

  “So far, so good,” Slocum muttered to Abeja.

  “You have the mind of a devil, John Slocum.”

  Slocum grinned.

  “Before the day is out,” he said, “I may grow horns on my head.”

  Abeja laughed as they waited for Blandings to ride up.

  Slocum looked up at the sky again.

  The only thing missing, so far, was Hardesty and Cordelia Granby. He hoped that by the time he got back into town the rancher and the widow would be right where he wanted them, standing near a bloody gallows, waiting for justice to be served.

  23

  The gallows stood in the town square, dripping with what looked like blood. People began gathering as word spread that something extraordinary was going to happen. The rumors flew from mouth to ear just the way Slocum had known they would. At the jail, he released Wyman and Jones. Those men from Hidalgo who had been outside, watching the jail, were all in the sheriff’s office in obedience to Slocum’s orders.