The rain continued through the night but stopped a few hours before daybreak. I had tossed and turned throughout and eventually gave up trying to sleep. I got myself up and dressed. Then got the horses fed and saddled for the trip Virgil and I were preparing to take over to Vadito, in search of the three convicts who had killed two men in the shootout at the sawmill in Yaqui. It was early morning and still dark, but the eastern horizon was brightening some with a faint hint of gold, and the sun would be up and showing full within the hour.
When I walked the horses toward the sheriff’s office, Book was loading panniers on a tall mule tied to the office’s hitch rail. Book turned quick and looked to me as I came up in the dark behind him.
“Everett.”
“Morning, Book,” I said.
“Gave me a start coming up like that,” he said.
“Just me.”
He shook his head. “Glad of it.”
“How goes it?” I said as I led the horses to the hitch and tied them next to the mule.
“Okay, I guess,” Book said. “Been thinking about that shooting over at Meserole’s last night.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Hell of a deal.”
“Been a long time since something like that has happened around here,” Book said. “Last gunplay I remember around here was when Truitt Shirley shot that Denver policeman in front of the gambling parlor.”
“Yep,” I said. “Sounds right.”
“I knew Old Man Meserole,” Book said. “I been in his place a few times, played some cards with the guys after work and looked at the girls. One of the few good places where the gals working aren’t selling their goods, too. Wonder if the place will close down?”
“Hard to say,” I said.
“Damn shame,” Book said.
“We’ll get to the bottom of it,” I said.
“Hope so,” Book said.
“We ready?”
“Pretty much. Just loading everything up.”
I looked to the office.
“Virgil here?”
Book shook his head.
“Not yet,” he said as he continued to pack the panniers with supplies that he had laid out on the boardwalk. “Got you enough rations to make the trip over and back.”
“Hard to say what direction we’ll go once we get there.”
“Well, I got you all kinds of stuff. A good amount—coffee, dried figs, carrots, biscuits, fatback, canned sardines, jerky, hardtack, beans . . .”
“Damn, Book, not going to China.”
“Well, no reason not to be prepared.”
“You got whiskey in there?”
“I do,” Book said.
“Good man.”
Book started back toward the office but paused before stepping inside and turned to me.
“This is bad.”
“What?”
“These prisoners.”
“Not good.”
“What do you make of what the Dobbin fella said about how they got out?”
“Don’t have a real clear picture.”
“No, I know, that’s what I mean. It’s hard to conceive just how this happened.”
“Don’t think we will really get a clear understanding until we get some information directly from the prison.”
“Well,” Book said, “hard to figure how the whole of them overpowered the guards and just walked out.”
“It does, I won’t deny you that.”
“What if you come across them on the way?”
“Could happen.”
“Damn, Everett, maybe some of us should go with you?”
“Think we’ll be all right, Book.”
“And you and Virgil know one of the men on the list,” he said. “Charlie . . .”
“Yep,” I said. “Ravenscroft. Charlie Ravenscroft, a no-good son of a bitch. We caught him after he killed two policemen. Claimed it was self-defense.”
“He’s not one of the three you’re after, now, though,” Book said. “He’s with the other bunch, the bunch Sheriff Stringer is after.”
I nodded.
“What we know,” I said. “That’s what the Dobbin fella offered up, anyway.”
“Well, if you want, I will go . . . I mean, if Sheriff Chastain thinks it’s okay.”
“You’re needed here, Book. All of you. No telling about the other that got away from Meserole’s and what kind of fallout may happen. Maybe you guys can figure out something about the tall fella that Meserole shot, too.”
Book shook his head some. “That was a hell of a storm we had,” he said.
“Was,” I said.
“Brought in some trouble,” he said.
“Did,” I said.