“I should’ve known better than to send some stupid savage to do a job.”
Behind his desk, Rupert Lessur was again smoking a long, slim cigar, but this time not blowing perfect smoke rings, nor was he smiling as he spoke to Gallagher and Rooster.
“That Big Ike,” Gallagher said, “is all grit and catgut.”
“We’ll see about Mister Big Ike Silver and his grit and catgut. There are several ways to skin a cat.”
“What’re you gonna do, boss?”
“You two just be back here at midnight and you’ll see.”
Gallagher started to say something, but changed his mind and turned to Rooster.
“Let’s get a drink.”
Rooster shrugged and followed Gallagher toward the door.
“Midnight!” Lessur repeated. “Meet me at the stable.”
All of Lessur’s plans for dealing with his opposition had been unsuccessful. First by Milo Sebastian at the Emporium with Belinda Millay. Then by Quentin Cord in a gunfight with Ike Silver. And now by Quemada with the attack on Silver and the gold wagon from the Rattlesnake. All three unsuccessful. But Rupert Lessur had a fourth and what he hoped was a final plan to eliminate the competition of Ike Silver and Company.
“Ben, one of the first things we’ve got to do on our next run to La Paz is get you another wagon,” Ike said.
“It could’ve been worse.” Ben grinned. “It could’ve been us in bits and pieces.”
“Amen, brother.”
“Ike,”—Ben looked around the stable to see if anyone was in hearing range—“I’d like to ask you something. . . .”
“Go ahead.”
“You ever notice that wedding band that Melena wears?”
“I have. But what about it?”
“It’s made out of copper. Made it for her when we were married, and well . . .” He paused.
“Go ahead, Ben. What’s on your mind?”
“I noticed you got some gold wedding rings in the store.”
“I guess we have.”
“Well, Ike . . . I’d like to buy her a gold one for Christmas.”
“No. You’re not going to buy any such thing. Compliments of the house.”
“I want to pay—”
“Don’t argue, partner. It’s my gift to both of you.”
“Rooster, what do you figure ’ol Lessur’s got in mind for us to do tonight?” Gallagher drained the whiskey from his glass as they both stood at the bar in the Emporium.
“I don’t know and I don’t care, so long as he keeps comin’ across on payday. . . . Say, isn’t it about time we got back?”
“We got time for one more. Maybe two. Hey, Henry!”
Inside the store, the big clock started to strike twelve. The store was empty, dark and quiet except for the sound of the timepiece.
Sister Bonney, in her nightclothes, knelt by her bed in a partitioned section of the schoolroom saying her prayers.
Ben and Melena were asleep in the loft that Ben had fixed up in the stable. Benjie slept in a smaller area nearby.
In his bed, Jake snored sonorously.
Jed and Obie were asleep in their room. The door opened and Ike entered with a book in his hand. He walked quietly to the boys’ beds, adjusted the disarranged covers, touched each boy’s brow, then left.
The door of Lessur’s stable opened and Gallagher and Rooster came in, both showing the effects of their visit to the Emporium. Gallagher was in the midst of singing “Who Threw the Overalls in Mrs. Murphy’s Chowder?”
Lessur stepped inside and closed the door. “Shut up, Gallagher. You want to wake up the whole town?”
“I don’t care.” Gallagher shrugged.
“Well, I do, so just shut up and listen.”
“Okay, boss.” Gallagher shrugged again. “What you want us to do?”
Lessur walked to a corner, picked up a couple of kerosene cans and held them out.
“We’re going to get rid of our competition.”
Gallagher’s eyes widened. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Big Ike Silver and Company . . . you’re going to burn it down.”
“There’s kids in there!” Gallagher took a step. “And—”
“That’s their problem. Lessur Freighting is mine.” He set the cans on the floor in front of him.
“Mister Lessur, you’re plumb crazy. Look, I’ve done some things that I . . . awwww, the hell with it!”
Gallagher started toward the door. As he passed by, Lessur grabbed a crowbar and brought it down hard across the back of Gallagher’s head.
Gallagher dropped. Lessur turned to Rooster.
“What about you? Do you have any such compunctions?”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means you’ll get his job and a fat bonus.”
“Yeah, but when he comes to . . . then—”
“He’s not going to come to.”
Lessur pulled a derringer from the belt under his coat and shot Gallagher in the back, then pointed to one of the kerosene cans.
“Get it going good . . . then meet me at the Emporium. We’ll get rid of him later.”
“Right, boss.”
Rooster picked up a can and headed for the door.
“And make sure nobody sees you.”
“Right, boss.”
Ike Silver settled himself into the overstuffed chair in the corner of the room near the oil lamp, opened the book and began to read.
“Call me Ishmael. Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see . . .”
After Rooster left, Lessur’s foot nudged Gallagher for any sign of response. There was none.
Lessur slipped the derringer back into his belt, went out the door and locked it behind him.
He wanted to be somewhere else when the fire started.