Slocum knelt down and poured out three cups of coffee. “Like, for instance, Tipsy Magee?”

  One-shouldered, Amos shrugged. “It had crossed my mind, Slocum, I must admit. I don’t mind sharing if you don’t.”

  “No, thanks,” Slocum said, and handed up a cup to Blue, who had just entered the campsite. “I got somebody waitin’ in Hoopskirt.”

  “Lucy?” asked Blue.

  “Ah, yes,” chimed in Amos. “I forgot, what with all the excitement. Nice of you to pick a stand-in, me having been wounded twice and all.”

  Blue snorted.

  “Well, I was,” Amos said as he accepted the next cup of coffee from Slocum. “Once in the side in your charming little hamlet, and again last night. I’m beginning to believe I have a bull’s-eye painted somewhere on my person.”

  Mug in hand, Slocum sat down on the ruined cabin wall. He grinned, and just before he took a sip, he said, “Just be glad it’s not lower, Amos.”

  Far away, at Letitia’s shack, Rance Carthage wasn’t feeling so hearty. In fact, he was having fever dreams something fierce. First he’d seen a Spanish dancer clicking her castanets and drumming her heels on his ceiling, and next, he’d seen Rufus sitting next to him, spoon-feeding him broth and telling him he was going to be all right, damm it.

  During a brief period of lucidity, of which he had few, he recognized Tish and asked, “Why’s it so dad-blamed hot in here?”

  “Cause you’re burnin’ up, darlin’,” she’d replied matter-of-factly. “Your shoulder’s gonna be fine, but what the hell did you take those other slugs out with? Small pox rags?” She sat down. “I sure hope you live. I wanna hear this story from beginnin’ to end.”

  “Where’s Cort?” he croaked, and she gave him a drink of water.

  “Cort’s gone, too,” she said with no trace of emotion. “Drug to death by a green mule last spring. I shot the mule.”

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “No, you ain’t,” Letitia replied. “You ain’t never been sorry for nothin’ in your whole damn life, Rance Carthage. Not even killin’ your own pa.”

  It was true. He hadn’t felt bad. The old man had tried to make off with Rance’s woman of the moment, and he deserved what he got.

  “You ever tell your brothers about that?”

  “Man’s gotta keep some things to hisself, Tish,” he muttered as the pictures began to come swimming back into his head.

  At the foot of his bed, the old fishing hole up in Minnesota started to crystalize into view, and there was young Rufus, tossing in dynamite to get some easy bluegills and crappies for the pan.

  “Rufus?” he shouted, there in the narrow cot. “You be careful you dasn’t blow off your hand, now, you damn fool!”

  Vaguely, he was aware of somebody bathing his forehead with cool water, but in his fever dream he thought it was spray, spray from the dive that Rufus had just made into the lake to fetch those fish.

  He smiled.

  “Slocum, stop starin’ at every hiding place we pass. He’s long gone, I tell you,” Blue insisted for the sixth time.

  “Seems to me you ought to be a little more concerned, Blue,” Slocum said grumpily. “After all, he could’a gone right just as well as left, and Arvil would’a been helpin’ me toss dirt over you last night.”

  “But he didn’t, did he?” Blue insisted. Blue had always been a relaxed sort of fellow, except for those cases when duty called loud and clear. He was just glad the sniper had taken off. If there were any repercussions, he’d deal with them when and if they happened.

  Not Slocum, though. Oh, he was a real vinegar pot of activity, always thinking about something or other. If it wasn’t women, then it was bad men with guns.

  Blue wished Slocum would stick to the women-thinking side more. Things would be a lot quieter around the territory.

  The whole of the West, come to think of it.

  “My shoulder’s doing quite nicely, in case anyone is even slightly interested,” Amos said.

  “We’re not,” Slocum and Blue said together.

  “Fine,” said Amos. “Perhaps, whilst we are blessed with a relative period of quiet, one of you will kindly tell me how you came to know each other?”

  Slocum apparently didn’t feel like talking, but Blue was up for some confab that had to do with something beside the Carthage boys or Slocum’s damned sniper, so he started in.

  “Was back in ’72, wasn’t it, Slocum?”

  No answer. Oh well.

  Blue continued, “I was a bounty hunter back then, and I was up in Montana, looking for a certain Elwood C. Candles. He’d stuck up three banks within a hundred miles, and folks was gettin’ plumb annoyed.”

  Blue paused for effect, and Amos said, “Fascinating, old man. Do go on.”

  It didn’t take much to encourage Blue. He said, “Well, it was the dead of winter and I was up in the high country—Montana’s real cold when you get up high. I mean, you ain’t met up with cold yet if you ain’t spent a winter—”

  “It was cold, Amos,” Slocum broke in.

  “So I gather,” said Amos.

  “All right,” said Blue, who hated to have a good story interrupted or thrown off track. But he persevered. “I was sneakin’ up on old Elwood’s cabin, see, sneakin’ up through a snowbank on foot, just the top of my head peekin’ over with a white hat on so’s he wouldn’t notice me comin’, when all of a sudden old Slocum here—who’s fifteen feet out front of me, and who I hadn’t spied until that very moment, pops up and shouts, ‘Elwood C. Candles, you’re surrounded by sixteen special rangers. Come out now with your hands up, or we’ll blast that cabin to hell and back!’ ”

  Now, even Amos was listening intently, and with a big grin on his face. Blue figured he had a pretty damned good story going.

  “So I just waited, you know, to see what would happen?” Blue went on. “And lo and behold, Elwood started firin’ outta that place like hellfire itself was burning beneath him.”

  Amos laughed, but Slocum scowled. “C’mon, Blue,” he said. “Get to the damned point.”

  “So, being back a little farther and havin’ better cover, I went skitterin’ round to the side of that cabin and opened up with everything I had,” Blue said. “Both pistols blazin’, like they say in the dime books, right through the side window.”

  Amos nodded eagerly.

  “Anyhow, ol’ Slocum took a couple of shots my way till he figured out what was goin’ on, and then he started blastin with both sidearms, too. I’ll be damned if we didn’t sound like the whole cavalry was out there.” Blue stopped to laugh and slap his thigh. “Hot damn, if that wasn’t a funny sight. Pretty soon, Elwood hollers, ‘I’m comin’ out boys, you got me.’ Pitches his guns out the front door, and follows them directly with his hands in the air.”

  “And that was how you met Slocum, was it?” Amos said with a grin.

  “It sure was,” Blue replied, still tickled with himself.

  “Course, we had a fair amount of argument over the bounty,” Slocum added.

  “But it all got worked out,” added Blue, somewhat hastily. “We run into each other a couple times since, but that was the first. Christ Almighty, I’m never gonna forget the look on Elwood’s face when he seen there was only the two of us!”

  “Where you goin’ once we hit Hoopskirt, Amos?” Slocum asked, abruptly changing the subject.

  “Crowfoot, first,” Blue reminded him. “Gotta tell them cowardly folks that the territories are safe again. For a while.”

  He frowned and shook his head. He still couldn’t believe that they’d scared up not one volunteer for the posse, not even after two people were killed.

  “They don’t rightly deserve to know, if you ask me,” Slocum grumbled, obviously sharing Blue’s feelings on the matter, “but I suppose you’ve gotta. Bein’ a law man and all.”

  Blue nodded.

  “Getting back to the point,” Amos said dreamily, “I believe I’ll head back to Armpit.” He sighed, “Such a butt-ugly name for a town with such fabulously beautiful ladies . . .”

  “Then back to Washington,” Slocum added.

  “Eventually.” Amos winked.

  “Nice to know that you boys got places to go,” Blue said. “It’s Hoopskirt for me, period. I’ve got a lot of ruffled feathers to soothe when I get back. Plus, I gotta scare up a new deputy till ol’ Frank gets on his feet again.”

  Slocum said, “Seems to me you was already scra pin’ the bottom of the barrel there, Blue.”

  Sadly, Blue nodded. “That I was, Slocum. That I was . . .”

  They pulled into Crowfoot early that same evening, and nearly got themselves shot by one of the sentries the town council had belatedly seen fit to appoint.

  Slocum grabbed the rifle away from the boy, once he got up close enough—and the sentry had realized his mistake—and tossed it in the nearest water trough.

  “Look what you’re shootin’ at before you pull the trigger, boy!” he shouted.

  The poor kid nearly wet his britches.

  They rode on up to the livery, now vacant of either owner or equine boarder, and settled their own horses in, along with Arvil’s mount, the pair the Carthage boys had stolen and the other two that had belonged to the original owners of the stone cabin.

  Slocum figured maybe the sheriff could sell them and get the proceeds to those boys’ next of kin, if they had any. There sure wasn’t anything else of theirs left back there.

  They went up to the sheriff’s office, reported the deaths and were about to leave when Sheriff Coltrane said, “Wait just a minute, boys.”

  Slocum turned around. He hoped this was going to be quick. He wanted to get himself a hot bath and a shave in the worst possible way. And then he wanted to sleep for a day and a half, and then . . . well, then off to Hoopskirt and blond-headed Lucy and a few days of relaxation. And other things.

  “After you come through here, after the . . . unpleasantness?”

  “Yeah?” urged Slocum.

  “There . . . there was somebody else came through,” Coltrane continued nervously. “That’s why I got guards posted all over town.”

  “Get to the point, man,” Amos said offhandedly. “I’m in dire need of medical attention. Not to mention whiskey.”

  Slocum rolled his eyes, and Blue said, “What’s the problem, Coltrane?”

  21

  Rance Carthage, Slocum thought furiously as he strode down to the saloon.

  Goddamn that bastard, anyway!

  Slocum had given up wondering just how the hell he’d survived that volley of slugs back in Hoopskirt. Some things just couldn’t be explained by man nor God.

  What he was wondering about at the moment was Rance’s exact location.

  He hadn’t followed them back to Crowfoot. If he had, they all would have been dead, likely shot in the back. It was Rance’s way, although he’d probably developed a few new and nasty habits since seeing his brothers blown to Kingdom Come.

  “Sonofabitch,” he hissed through clenched teeth as he pushed open the doors of the saloon.

  “My sentiments, too,” said Blue, who’d been dogging his footsteps down from the sheriff’s office. They’d dropped a complaining Amos off at the doctor’s office, just to make sure Blue had bandaged up his shoulder correctly.

  “You know,” Blue continued as they walked up to the bar, “I don’t get nothin’ for this. Comes with the job. But whatever you’re gettin’ paid, it ain’t enough, if you ask me.”

  It was only then that Slocum realized that he didn’t know if he was getting paid anything at all. Now, this got him more annoyed than he already was, which was a good bit.

  He should have thought to ask Amos, first thing. But he’d been so hot to get on the Carthages’ trail . . .

  “Whiskey,” he said as he leaned an elbow on the bar. “Make it a double.”

  “Hell,” said Blue. “Just bring the damned bottle.” Then he turned back to Slocum. “You figure we need to post some more guards?”

  Slocum snorted. “If that kid was a specimen of what they’d got to offer, I don’t see that it’d do any good. Just pile up more bodies on the—what, five?—they’ve lost already.”

  Blue didn’t say anything.

  The bartender brought them a bottle and a couple of glasses, and they both gulped a shot. It tasted mighty good to Slocum, but he stopped with that and changed his next order to a beer. He wanted all his senses alert. There was no telling where Rance was or when he might just decide to show up.

  Blue, on the other hand, poured himself out another whiskey. “Don’t know about you, Slocum,” he said, “but I need somethin’ to set my nerves steady. This ‘first we’re finished, then we’re not’ business is a little tough on a feller. Especially a feller who’s main job for the past few years has been getting old ladies’ cats down out of trees.”

  “Believe me,” Slocum said, nodding, “I understand.”

  Turning around to lean against the bar, Slocum checked the place over while he sipped his beer. The place had only three customers, all of whom stopped whispering when he pivoted and tipped their hats to him.

  Word traveled fast in these little towns, he guessed.

  There looked to be only one whore available, but she wasn’t exactly what Slocum was interested in. Even slightly. Aging, toothless, and wearing a tattered dress she sat at a back table all alone, playing solitaire and gumming a biscuit.

  But then things began to look up. Through the rear door came a fresh little thing, dark-haired and pretty. She was carrying a box of groceries.

  Well, crud. Maybe she was only the delivery girl.

  But he kept an eye on her, just the same.

  She carried her box to the edge of the bar, saying, “Here you go, Ike.”

  Then Ike, the bartender whispered something to her and tipped his head in the direction of Blue and Slocum. She looked down their way and smiled. Slocum tipped his hat. Blue, being busy staring at his whiskey bottle, didn’t notice.

  The girl made her way down the narrow barroom and sidled up next to him. This time, Blue noticed, since the target of her sidle was right between the two of them.

  “I hear you two got the Carthage boys,” she said, right out. “We’re grateful, sirs.”

  “It was three of us,” Blue broke in. “Well, four, actually. Old Arvil didn’t make it, God rest him, and Amos is up at the doc’s.”

  “I reckon you heard about our other troubles,” she said, directly to Slocum and ignoring Blue entirely.

  “Yeah,” Slocum said. Behind the girl’s back, Blue tipped his hat and turned back to his whiskey. “We heard.”

  “You’re the one they call Slocum, ain’t you?” she asked, batting her dark lashes just a tad.

  “Yup,” he replied, and gave her a smile. “How’d you know that?”

  Her fingers trailed down his arm. “Oh, word gets around. You know.”

  He sure did. And right at the moment, he’d forgotten all about Lucy and Hoopskirt. He asked, “You got a few free minutes?”

  She smiled seductively. “Oh, I got more than that, Slocum. A lot more.”

  He drained his beer quickly, and as he walked toward the stairs with her, Blue called, “Just come runnin’ if you hear gunshots, ol’ buddy!”

  “You got it,” replied Slocum, then turned to the girl again. “What’d you say your name was, honey?”

  Hands propped on her hips, Letitia shook her head. “I swear, Rance Carthage, I ain’t never in my life seen a man for healin’ like you.”

  His fever was down to a tolerable level, and he was sitting up in bed, spooning at a bowl of broth Tish had made up for him. It wasn’t bad, considering it was made with snake meat.

  “I’m hard to kill, Tish,” he said. “All us Carthages are. Took a couple-three blasts of dynamite to take out Rafe and Rufus.” He said this with some anguish, but a larger degree of pride.

  “They were a couple of jackasses,” he added, “but they went out like goddamn Carthages.”

  “Well,” she said, sitting down, “that’s all a body can ask, ain’t it?”

  “Reckon.” He handed his empty soup bowl over. “Got anythin’ a man can chew on?”

  “Seein’ as how you done so good with the broth, I reckon I can rustle some up,” she said. She got up and started messing about in the kitchen, which was merely the other side of the lean-to. “Suppose you’ll be off before long.”

  “Yup,” he said, pulling himself up a little higher in the bed. It wasn’t any too comfortable, but it beat a bed of rocks and dirt out under the stars.

  “Don’t suppose you’ll be back, then,” she added, without looking at him.

  He knew that tone. He’d known Letitia since they were both kids, but that didn’t keep him from reading that “my man’s gone now, so why don’t you take his place?” question in her voice, even if it was unspoken.

  He said, “Might. Might not. Depends.”

  “Depends on what?” she asked, trying to keep her voice casual. But the attempt was fruitless against Rance.

  “Depends on a lotta things,” he said, ending the discussion. For now. “What you makin’ me to eat, anyhow?”

  The girl’s name, oddly enough, was Honey, and she had been home with a sick sister the day the Carthage boys rode into town, killing little Penny and the stable owner on their way through.

  She had come back in time for the third man to enter town, though, and she had been among those who chased him from the saloon.

  “I threw tomatoes,” she said proudly. “That’s what I was restockin’ from Gowdy’s general store.”

  “You get many orders for tomatoes in a bar?” Slocum asked as he slipped off her dress.

  “You’d be surprised,” she replied and, with that, went to work on his belt buckle.

  He hadn’t realized how much he needed the comfort and release of a woman, and he took her across the table, sweeping the contents of its cloth aside and laying her, spread-eagled, across its surface.