Talon was eating breakfast in the Ma’s Kitchen restaurant when a couple men he knew stepped inside. Lonny Leon and Jeb Curtis had been in the wagons Coffin had brought from Huntsville.

  Despite his lack of a beard and new clothes the men recognized him immediately and sat at his table, grinning. Leon, dressed in worn-out duds that were too big for him, said, “You look to be prospering, Ford.”

  “Doing all right at the moment,” Talon said. “It won’t last long. Where did you and Jeb find clothes?”

  “Stole ’em,” Curtis said. “An’ got us eighty dollars as well.”

  “Shut your trap, Jeb,” Leon said. “The damned walls have ears.” He opened his shabby coat and grinned. “Stole this, too, Ford.” The handle of a Remington revolver stuck out of his waistband. “The feller who owned it don’t need it no more.”

  “You boys ate yet?” Talon said.

  “Not a bite,” Curtis said. “But we’re only hungry for coffee. We got big plans, see, an’ a man shouldn’t eat when he’s layin’ down plans. Grub makes his brains dull.”

  “What kind of plans?” Talon said.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know,” Curtis said. He tapped the side of his nose with a forefinger. “It’s a secret.”

  “Damn you fer an idiot, Jeb,” Leon said. “It ain’t a secret when we’re among friends, an’ Ford is a friend, ain’t you, Major?”

  Talon smiled. “We pounded a pile of rock together back in the pen.”

  Curtis pretended to spit on the floor, drawing a horrified look from a stern matron breakfasting with her husband. “Thirty years for sticking my pizzle into a woman that was married anyway,” he said. “Like she even noticed.”

  “What about you, Lonny?” Talon said.

  “Bank robbery,” Leon said. “An’ I killed a deputy sheriff making my getaway. ‘Scum, I sentence you to hard labor for the rest of your natural life,’ the judge said. I aim to find that sumbitch one day and kill him.”

  “You killed three men, huh?” Curtis said to Talon.

  “Yes. Herb Coffin was the last of them.”

  Lonny Leon’s face registered surprise. “You done fer Coffin? How the hell did you manage that?”

  “It wasn’t easy,” Talon said.

  “Ford don’t want to talk about it because he’s a gentleman, Lonny,” Curtis said. “Ain’t that right, Ford?”

  Talon smiled. “It’s a painful memory. Can I buy you boys coffee?”

  “I could use some,” Leon said.

  The waitress was young and pretty and Jeb leered and grabbed his crotch under the table. This drew a rebuke from Leon, who warned him not to attract attention to himself or he’d ruin everything.

  “Ruin what?” Talon said.

  “A sure thing,” Leon said as he spooned sugar into his coffee. “Do you mind Jasper Dunn, came up the trail with us from Huntsville?”

  “I remember,” Talon said. He recalled a simian man with carrion-eater eyes and a hairline that came down to his eyebrows. “Murder, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah, Jasper killed more ’n his share and enjoyed the doing of it. They were gonna hang him for murdering a sodbuster and his wife up Clay County way,” Leon said. “But the governor commuted his sentence to twenty-five years on account of how Jasper got kicked by a mule when he was a younker and ain’t quite right in the head. At least that’s what his lawyer said.”

  “A fine man,” Talon said.

  “Who?” Leon said.

  “Your friend Jasper.”

  “Jasper don’t have no friends, but he has big ideas, big plans,” Leon said. “He’s a thinker, thinking all the time.” He leaned closer to Talon. “It’s a bank, Ford, a big, fat cattleman’s bank on Belknap Street.” Leon glanced over his shoulder, then said, “We’re gonna take it.”

  “Who’s ‘we’?” Talon said.

  “Jasper, me, Jeb and five others came up the trail with us, all of them members of the bank-robbing profession.”

  “Well, are you in, Ford?” Curtis said. “You’re smart and we need smart.”

  “Jeb’s right about that,” Leon said. “Bank robbers ain’t that clever. We want somebody like you, a man used to giving orders.”

  “When do you hit the bank, Lonny?” Talon said.

  “That hasn’t been decided yet. We need to steal more horses and guns. What do you say?”

  “I say, I’ll think about it,” Talon said.

  “Don’t study on it for too long, Ford,” Leon said. “There’s only room for one more, and I’d sure like it to be you.”

  * * *

  Jasper Dunn was thinking big, bigger than Lonny Leon could ever imagine. Why settle for a bank when he could have it all?

  Thirty white men crowded into the basement of an abandoned warehouse on the corner of Houston and 11th Street. Until recently the building had been used for grain storage and was infested by rats, but men who’d endured conditions at Huntsville had no fear of rodents and other vermin.

  Most of the men present were still clothed in prison rags, many in bare feet, and all of them were hungry. A few had rolled a drunk or two or picked some pockets and were in better shape, but it was still a tattered, flea-ridden bunch who listened so attentively to Jasper Dunn’s voice. Dunn himself was well dressed since he’d taken part in the robbery of Nate Levy’s clothing store, and he wore a stolen Colt revolver on his hip.

  He stood on a box and pointed in the direction of the street. “Look at you,” he yelled at the men squatting on the filthy floor. “You still look like a bunch of prison rats and do you know why? I’ll tell you why.” His voice rose to a shout. “It’s because those people out there don’t give a damn about you.”

  This drew scattered cheers and a cry of “Damn right they don’t!”

  “But that’s all going to change!” Dunn yelled.

  “How we gonna change it, Jasper? Tell us how.” The man was a shill planted by Dunn and the reaction was better than he’d expected.

  “Yeah, how?” a man yelled and others took up the chorus of “How? How?”

  “Because we’re taking over Hell’s Half Acre,” Dunn said. “We’ll grab our cut and squeeze this damned town dry, starting with the cathouses and dance halls where the pickings are easy.”

  “And then what, Jasper?” the shill hollered.

  “Then the saloons and the regular businesses and then, moving in one neighborhood at a time, the entire city of Fort Worth.”

  That was music to the ears of hungry, hopeless men. Suddenly in Jasper Dunn they saw their savior, a man who could give them everything they craved: money, whiskey, women . . . and power.

  Murderers, robbers, rapists, the scum of the earth, they cheered Dunn until they were hoarse.

  The unholy covenant between the Huntsville cons and Jasper Dunn was further sealed when several black men and Mexicans carried cauldrons of steaming soup into the basement, along with trays of freshly baked bread and bowls and spoons.

  “Jasper Dunn looks after his boys,” Dunn yelled. “And when you’re finished eating there’s whiskey and beer for everybody.”

  As ravenous men fell on the food, Dunn took a man aside who had the scarred face and big-knuckled hands of a street fighter. Their heads close, Dunn said, “Cole, you sure you squared this with the Panther City Boys?” he said. “I don’t want any trouble from them. They’re organized and there’s a lot of them.”

  “Don’t move north of 11th Street, west of Houston or east of Commerce and they’ll look the other way,” the man called Cole said. “Of course they want their cut. Forty percent of every cent you take in.”

  “I’ll play along for now,” Dunn said. “Later I’ll settle with the Panther City Boys permanently. Who’s in my way, Cole?”

  “Kurt Koenig is the big man around town, owns the Silver Garter saloon and the Green Buddha opium den and a lot else besides. He’s tough and good with a gun. Luke Short has the White Elephant and he won’t be pushed, either. He killed Jim Courtright after he tried to strong-arm him and Jim was nobody’s idea of a bargain.”

  Dunn looked around him. “My God, this rabble eats like pigs,” he said. Then, “What about the law?”

  “Koenig is the city marshal and there’s a green sheriff in the Acre by the name of Jess Casey. He’s a stove-up cowboy who won’t cause you much trouble.”

  Dunn absorbed that then said, “I need guns, clothing and horses for these men, and they’ll expect wages.”

  “The Panther City Boys can supply all of that.”

  “Just mention the name Cole Danvers, huh?” Dunn said.

  “Yeah, mention my name and hand over a bagful of money.”

  “Damn it, I don’t have any money.”

  “I’ll ask around, Jasper. Maybe I can find somebody ready to bankroll you for a cut.”

  “Another cut? Soon I’ll have nothing left.”

  “When you first start out in business you can expect a lot of fingers in your wallet,” Danvers said. “That will stop the more successful you become.”

  “I want to get the ball rolling, Cole. I mean real soon. Look around you. Is this any way for a man to live?”

  “Jasper, you saved my life in Huntsville when the guards were planning to kill me to stop my release. I haven’t forgotten. I’ll do all I can for you.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Mayor Harry Stout was not in a good mood. He had three problems to solve that morning. One was a personal matter concerning a young lady of his acquaintance who had upped her already expensive rates because of his increasing girth, complaining that he was going to “crush her bones to powder.” That sorry situation did not concern Sheriff Jeff Casey but the other two did.

  “I want to resolve these irritations this morning, Sheriff Casey,” Stout said, scowling. He sat behind a huge polished mahogany desk, his great belly hanging like a sack of grain between his legs. The flag of the United States and the Texas Lone Star stood behind him.

  “And they are?” Jess said. His body ached that morning and an old hip injury plagued him.

  Stout raised his chubby hand and extended a forefinger. “One. No legal action will be taken against City Marshal Kurt Koenig. He was within his rights to execute Mad Dog Rankin. The man was a damned nuisance.” Jess opened his mouth to speak, but the mayor raised a middle finger. “Two. I’m told that there’s a wild man running around the town cemetery scaring all the women. You will find that savage creature and arrest or shoot him at your discretion.”

  Stout leaned back in his chair and linked fingers across his belly as though he had fairly stated his case. “I think I’ve made myself clear,” he said. “Be warned, Sheriff, I will brook no argument over the Rankin business, none whatsoever. If you care to press the matter I will reluctantly dismiss you from your post.”

  Jess decided to surrender, at least for now. He did not want to make an enemy of Harry, a man who could make or break him.

  “Tell me about the wild man,” he said.

  “Mrs. Anderson and her daughter Mabel, poor things, saw him,” Stout said after a quick glance at the clock on the wall. “The creature had a long beard, was dressed in rags, and Mrs. Anderson said he had red, glowing eyes like a demon. Apparently the wild man demanded food, but the two women fled and Mabel, a rather plump young lady, twisted her ankle quite badly. She’s now at home under the care of a doctor.”

  Stout clapped his hands, signaling an end to the meeting. “Do your duty, Sheriff Casey. I look forward to hearing good reports of you.”

  * * *

  Fort Worth’s Oakwood Cemetery had been established in 1879, but was already crowded with the notable and notorious. Its spacious, oak-shaded sixty-two acres made the city fathers proud and Harry had approved a sign at the gate that declared:

  COME ON IN THERE’S ROOM FOR EVERYBODY

  Since the graveyard was relatively new, it had none of the spooky aspects of older boot hills and its marble and granite headstones gleamed in the morning sunlight. There were several mausoleums and one of the largest had been erected under the branches of a spreading oak. But the marble-paneled outer door stood ajar as did the iron security gate behind it.

  Jess decided it was as likely a place as any for a wild man to hole up. He drew his Colt and stepped to the door. “Anybody to home?” he said, fully aware how strange that sounded. He moved closer, pushed the door and the gate wider.

  “It ain’t a graveyard if the gate don’t creak, huh?”

  The voice came from behind Jess and he swung around, thumbing back the hammer of the Colt. The wild man stood watching him, a smile on his bearded face.

  “Don’t shoot!” the man yelled. “Don’t shoot old Sam Waters. He don’t mean no harm.”

  “You scared the hell out of me,” Jess said. “I should put a bullet into you out of spite. Why are you here scaring white folks?”

  “Old Sam’s got nowhere else to go, lawman. That’s why he sleeps with the dead. They talk to him, tell him secret things.”

  “You’re a crazy old coot,” Jess said. “How did you get here?”

  “In a wagon. Sam got here in a steel wagon.”

  “From where? And let me tell you, I’m having a real hard time believing your story.”

  “Well, I didn’t fall out of the sky, sonny.” The old man scratched his head, then, “Ah, now my brain is starting to work again. I was brung here from Huntsville. I spent my whole life there, man and boy.”

  “Who brought you here, Sam?” Jess said. He thought the man looked impossibly old. He was small, thin and wrinkled and when Jess looked into his faded blue eyes there was no one at home.

  “Bad men brought Sam here in a wagon”—he shook the iron door of the tomb—“like this. Sam, and a hundred, no, too many, half a hundred. All of them were bad men. When we got to this town they chased Sam away, said he was too old and loco.”

  “All those bad men were brought here from Huntsville?” Jess said.

  The old man nodded. “All of them. Very bad men.” He smiled, revealing few teeth and those bad. “Sam was a prisoner for sixty years. He was the oldest of them.”

  “What did you do to deserve that?” Jess said. “You sure this isn’t a big windy you’re telling me?”

  “I’m telling you the truth. Damn it, boy, they forgot all about me. After years and years passed the guards didn’t even know who old Sam Waters was or why he was in jail. They never give Sam no trouble, though.”

  Jess said, “Do you remember what you did, Sam?”

  “Sure I do. When I was twenty years old I stole old man Perkins’s chickens and then his milk cow. Sold the milk cow for a jug of whiskey, Sam did, and got three years in jail.” The old man shrugged his narrow shoulders. “After I was transferred from the county jail to Huntsville everybody forgot about me. At first I’d say, ‘I’m Sam Waters the cow thief. Let me go.’ But then some bull would hit him with a stick so Sam stopped saying that an’ kept his mouth shut. Prisoners came and went, the deck got shuffled time after time and Sam was the card that got dropped on the floor.”

  “Sixty years for stealing a cow,” Jess said, shaking his head. “That’s hard to believe.”

  “And chickens. Sam stole chickens.”

  “Sam, think carefully now. Are all those men from Huntsville still here in Fort Worth?”

  “Sure are, lawman. Myself included, but they don’t want me around.”

  “They all dressed like you?” Jess said.

  “Yeah. Just like me, all in rags.”

  Jess felt sick, anticipating big trouble coming down. Fifty desperate cons had been dumped on Fort Worth, by whose authority or for what reason he could not guess. Starving, ragged, their first need would be clothing and food, and that could explain the robbery at Nate Levy’s clothing store. It also explained the presence of Ford Talon in the Acre. He was one of them.

  And then the old con surprised Jess. He stopped talking about himself as though Sam Waters were a different person and said, “I reckon you’re one man agin fifty, lawman. Those Huntsville boys will run riot in this town. Just you wait and see.”

  “Why did you pretend to be loco, Sam?” Jess said.

  “It was my protection in the pen, and I figured it would protect me from you.”

  “I mean you no harm,” Jess said.

  Sam nodded. “I finally cottoned to that. You got a good face, Sheriff, like that General Custer everybody talks about. You know, the feller that got massacreed by all them Indians.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that before,” Jess said. “Well, I caught me a wild man. I guess we’d better get back.”

  “What you going to do with old Sam? I could sure use a bait o’ grub. I’m right partial to eggs and bacon and fried bread. You got any of that?”

  “Not with me, no,” Jess said.

  “Am I under arrest?”

  “For the moment.”

  “Then you’ll have to feed me.”

  Jess smiled. “I guess I’ll have to at that.”

  * * *

  If Sam Waters expected to eat right away he was sorely disappointed. Like a man washes a muddy dog, Jess held him under the pump behind the office and made him wash all over with lye soap and a scrubbing brush. When the old man was clean enough to pass inspection he was allowed to towel off and Jess frog-marched him into the office, where he tossed him a blanket and ordered him into the cell.

  “Stay there until I get back,” Jess said. “I’ll leave the cell door open.”

  “What about my grub and where’s my duds?” Waters said.

  “You didn’t have any duds,” Jess said. “I’ll bring you something to wear.”

  “And grub,” the old man said.

  “Yeah, and grub,” Jess said.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “They busted through the back door, Sheriff,” Bill Harker said. “Look around you, I’m just about cleaned out. Clothes, shoes, hats, all gone and so is the Colt self-cocker I always keep behind the counter. And look.” Harker led the way to a high pile of stinking rags that had been neatly folded and stacked up on the floor. “Their idea of a joke,” he said.