“Where are you thinkin’ about headin’?” Harley asked as he watched Cole checking the ropes on his packhorse one last time. The little man was finally resigned to the fact that Cole was setting out after Slade Corbett, in spite of another attempt to change his mind. “Them two outlaws could be anywhere—might be halfway to Texas by now. You ain’t got a snowball’s chance in hell of findin’ ’em.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Cole replied stoically. “But I’ve got even less of a chance of findin’ ’em sittin’ around this village all winter.” Satisfied that his pack was secure, he answered Harley’s question. “Cheyenne was where I lost ’em, so I reckon Cheyenne’s where I’ll start lookin’ to pick up their trail.”
Yellow Calf, Walking Owl, and Medicine Bear, along with several more of the village, came out to wish him good hunting on his journey. The medicine man agreed with Harley in the belief that Cole should give his wound more time to heal properly, but he understood the young man’s sense of what he must do. After thanking his hosts, Cole stepped up into the saddle. A moment before turning the Morgan toward the river, he paused when Harley suddenly stepped up and extended his hand.
“You be damn careful, partner,” Harley said, then stepped back to watch him ride out of the camp, a foreboding thought striking him that he might never see the determined young man again.
When the others returned to their tipis, he re- mained there, watching his friend as he led the buckskin across the river, passing by the spot on the bank where they had searched for tracks left by a white wolf. He shook his head sadly, for he feared there was nothing but tragedy awaiting the young man. For several long moments, he stood there after Cole had ridden out of sight before turning to go back to Yellow Calf’s lodge.
• • •
Mary Lou Cagle stood in the kitchen door, her attention captured by two men who had just walked into the dining room.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” she murmured. “I don’t believe the nerve of that pair of murderers.” She turned back toward the kitchen where Maggie was drying a stack of dishes. “You’re not gonna believe who just showed up in the dining room,” she said.
“Who?” Maggie asked, aware of the astonishment in Mary Lou’s tone.
“That son of a bitch Slade Corbett and the other son of a bitch—whatever his name is,” Mary Lou answered.
“No!” Maggie replied in disbelief, and walked to the door to see for herself.
“Well, you know we should have expected it,” Mary Lou said, disgusted. “They know there ain’t anybody in town that’ll stop them, now that Jim Thompson’s dead and his deputy quit.”
“This deputy wasn’t around long enough to even learn his name,” Maggie said. “How do these outlaws find out so soon, anyway?”
“Huh,” Mary Lou snorted, “I know what my guess would be.”
She and Maggie had expected trouble with the sudden absence of any semblance of law enforcement, but they had hoped that it would be confined to the riffraff brought in by the railroad. Most of the merchants expected the town’s swollen population to be gone when the weather improved and the railroad could push the tracks farther west. They just wondered if the town could survive until spring.
“I wonder if Leon Bloodworth knows those two are back in town,” Maggie wondered aloud, still stunned by their blatant disregard for the law. She knew that the stable owner had been trying to get the merchants together to re-form the vigilance committee now that there was an absolute lack of any official law in town.
“He’ll find out soon enough,” Mary Lou said as she watched Corbett and Sanchez swagger over to a table in the dining room. “Whaddaya think we oughta do about them? Think I should tell them we don’t serve their kind? They can get something to eat in one of the saloons.”
Patrons at the two tables close to them got up and headed for the door, their supper unfinished. Minutes later, the other diners departed, leaving no one in the dining room but the two outlaws.
“No,” Maggie said. “I’m afraid if you do that, they’re liable to tear up the place. Maybe it’s best to go ahead and serve them. Then they might just go on about their business. There’s no sense in making them mad.”
“All right,” Mary Lou said. “I’ll go wait on them.” She released a long weary sigh and started toward the table.
“There she is,” Slade drawled when she approached. “I was wonderin’ if I was gonna have to go back yonder in the kitchen to look for you. Hell, that’s the main reason I came back to this pigsty, to see you again. Ain’t that right, Sanchez?” Sanchez’s response was a sarcastic sneer.
Mary Lou had cautioned herself not to get into a conversation with Slade Corbett, but seeing his mocking grin, she could not control her disgust for the monster. “You’ve got your nerve coming back in here. You’re running all our customers out. What do you want, anyway?”
“One thing for sure,” Corbett told her, “is a helluva lot more respect outta you.” Mary Lou snorted her derision. He ignored it and continued. “Me and Sanchez want some supper, and I wanna know where that friend of yours is. You know, the coward with the Henry rifle. I heard he was lookin’ for me. I’m lookin’ for him now, so where’s he hidin’ out?”
“How the hell would I know?” Mary Lou replied. “Even if I did know, I wouldn’t tell you, and that’s a fact. Whaddaya want with him, anyway? You’ve already slaughtered his whole family. Ain’t that enough for you two murderers?”
“What the hell are you talkin’ about?” Slade questioned. “We ain’t murdered nobody.”
“You know what I’m talking about,” Mary Lou came back, thoroughly into her revulsion for the two murderers. “That family you and your gang of garbage massacred on Chugwater Creek,” she charged. “Why do you think he came after you?”
Stunned by the accusation, Corbett was left speechless for a moment before demanding, “Who told you we had anything to do with that?” Then thinking it best to claim ignorance of the incident, he said, “I didn’t know there was anybody killed on the Chugwater. We ain’t been up that way in a year. That mouth of yours is liable to get you into more trouble than you’re set to handle.”
Realizing that she had already said too much for her own good, Mary Lou decided it best to hold her sharp tongue before she became their next victim. “Maggie says I gotta feed you,” she blurted. “You want supper? Six bits each.”
Corbett hesitated, still shocked that she knew about the little party he and his gang had had at that farm on the Chugwater. He glanced at Sanchez, to gauge his reaction to the accusation, but was met with the insolent sneer his partner always wore.
“Yeah, we want supper,” he answered her. “And we want it quick.” Favoring him with an expression of contempt, she turned and went into the kitchen.
When she had gone, Corbett said, “So now we know why that son of a bitch came after us. He ain’t no lawman at all. He’s just a crybaby sodbuster tryin’ to get back at us for killin’ his wife and family—just a damn farmer that don’t know when to just thank his lucky stars he wasn’t home when we hit his place.”
“He shot Tom Larsen,” Sanchez reminded him, not ready to take the rifleman lightly.
“Maybe so,” Slade conceded. “But you know damn well he had to catch Tom by surprise—snuck up on him when he was playin’ cards, or shot him from a safe distance. Hell, he was usin’ a damn rifle. He most likely shot Tom from the front door, and Tom never saw him.”
“Tom got a shot in him,” Sanchez reminded him again. He was not prone to dismiss Tom Larsen’s killer as a simple grieving farmer.
Sanchez’s remark was not enough to alter Corbett’s opinion of the man stalking them. “Right,” he responded. “The son of a bitch got shot. He’s run off somewhere to hide—might be dead already.” Their speculation was interrupted then by the arrival of Mary Lou at the table with their coffee. Filled with the confidence then that the lawman they had fled was now running for his life, Corbett questioned her again. “Now, how ’bout you tell me where that stud is that shot a friend of ours? Is he still in town?”
“No,” Mary Lou replied, thankful that he wasn’t.
“How bad was he shot?”
“I don’t know. I’m not a doctor,” she answered. “Now, if you’re gonna eat, stop asking me questions, so I can go to the kitchen and get your supper.”
“Somebody’s been tellin’ you the wrong story ’bout us,” Slade said, still trying to convince her she was wrong. “Hell, killin’ peaceful folks ain’t our style. Is it, Sanchez?” Sanchez merely grunted in reply.
“Is that so?” Mary Lou responded. “I remember how quick you got outta town when you heard what Cole Bonner had done for your friend and was coming for you.”
“Is that his name?” Corbett replied. “Sounds like you know him pretty well.” He waited for her to respond, but when she didn’t, he continued. “Me and Sanchez left town so there wouldn’t be no more killin’. ’Cause we’da had to take care of that crazy son of a bitch, and some innocent folks mighta got hurt—like the time you got shot when that feller got Frank Cowen.” He didn’t realize that the man who shot Cowen was the same man who now stalked him. Recalling that incident, he commented, “Musta not been too bad. You look like you’re doin’ all right.” Mary Lou declined to respond.
Seeing no useful purpose to the conversation between Corbett and the woman, Sanchez interrupted. “Go get the food—too much talk. I’m hungry.”
“You know,” Corbett said to Sanchez when Mary Lou went into the kitchen, “the feller that shot Frank—reckon he’s the same one that shot Tom?”
Sanchez gave it a thought. “Could be,” he allowed. Then his face twisted with an evil grin. “Be kinda funny if he is—gettin’ shot served him right for killin’ Frank.”
Further conversation on the possibility was interrupted by the arrival of supper, but the possibility served to convince Sanchez that it was more than a simple farmer they were to be concerned with.
Mary Lou placed a bowl of thick soup before each of them. Slade picked up his spoon and stirred it around. “Looks pretty good. You didn’t spit in it, did you?” He gave her a malevolent grin while Sanchez dug in immediately.
“Now, why didn’t I think of that?” she replied, and turned to go back to the kitchen, smiling to herself, since she had done that very thing just moments before.
When she returned to the kitchen, it was to find Arthur Campbell talking furtively to Maggie, having slipped in through the back door. He looked up when Mary Lou walked in, and whispered, “What are they doing?”
“Eating,” Mary Lou replied matter-of-factly, wondering what he had expected.
“They came into the hotel,” Campbell said. “I didn’t have much choice. I had to give them a room. I sent Claude down to the stable to tell Leon.”
Maggie became upset immediately. “If you men are thinking about getting the Gunnysack Gang together to do something with those two, you do it outside my dining room. I’ve had more than my share of damage because of that man and his gang.”
“By the time Leon gets a posse together, they’ll most likely be out of your dining room—might be in the Sundown Saloon. That’s where they liked to hang out before.” He slipped over to the edge of the door to get a peek at the two outlaws. “Sitting there big as life,” he whispered, “like they had nothing to worry about.” He watched for a moment more before speculating, “It would be pretty easy to shoot both of them while they’re sitting there eating—do the whole town a favor.” He spent a moment more thinking about the danger to the person who tried it and happened to miss. Withdrawing carefully from the edge of the door, he said, “I’d best get out of here and go meet with Leon and the others.”
“What are you planning to do about them?” Maggie persisted, still concerned about her dining room, especially after hearing his speculation.
“I don’t know,” Campbell said. “I’ll meet with the others and I reckon we’ll have to decide the best way to handle it.” He went out the back door then. “It’s best if we act as a committee and not one man on his own.”
• • •
In the time it took Arthur Campbell to hurry down to Bloodworth’s stable, only two other members of the vigilance committee had shown up. Arthur found Bloodworth talking to Jesse Springer, the blacksmith, and Douglas Green, who owned Green’s Dry Goods. “We’re gonna need more than the four of us to take those two gunmen,” Green said.
“Four of us against two of them,” Springer said. “Seems like enough of us to me.”
“Four merchants with wives and children, against two hell-raising gunmen.” Green was quick to differ. “We need more than the four of us. We at least oughta send for Gordon Luck.”
“Hell, Douglas,” Springer scoffed. “They’re in the dinin’ room now where we can surprise ’em. It would take too long to ride out to the sawmill to get Gordon. We’ve hung a few hell-raisers before who thought they were too big to worry about the law in our town. These two ain’t no different.”
“The hell they’re not,” Green insisted. “Those two are in the business of killing. And there were a helluva lot more of us on those occasions, if you’ll recall.”
Gordon Luck had been at the forefront of every lynching in town, and Green would have been a lot more confident with him to lead them. A powerful man, with shoulder-length sandy hair and a trim beard to match, Gordon was a natural leader, as well as the minister of the town’s newly established Baptist church. Far from being humble in his religious beliefs, he conducted himself as a soldier in the Lord’s service. His Sunday sermons contained more than a few casual references to the evil that had descended upon Crow Creek Crossing with the coming of the railroad, and the duty for all citizens to take up the sword against it.
“If you ain’t got the stomach for it, I reckon the three of us can do the job,” Springer chided Green.
“Hold on,” Leon Bloodworth stepped in. “It don’t do no good for you two to have a catfight right now. John, I understand what Douglas is sayin’. It would be a whole lot safer if there were more of us to go take those two down. I’m glad that you’re willin’ to go after ’em with just us here now, but let’s wait a little bit to see who else shows up. I’ve sent my boy, Marvin, to tell some of the others about the meetin’.”
Some minutes later, Marvin returned with Alvin Tucker right behind him. “I figured we could count on Alvin,” Bloodworth remarked when the rawboned proprietor of the saddle shop walked in, carrying a double-barreled shotgun. Along with Gordon Luck, Tucker had played a leading role in every hanging carried out by the Gunnysack Gang, and he looked eager to stage another one. “What about Swartz?” Bloodworth asked his son.
“I told him,” Marvin said, “but he said he couldn’t come right now, ’cause they already stopped in his place before they went to the hotel. And he said he oughta stay there in case they come back.”
“Hell, five of us is enough to take care of two low-down gunmen,” Tucker said.
“That’s what I’ve been tryin’ to tell ’em,” Springer said. “We’ve got enough for a committee. Ain’t even no use to wear masks. We’re actin’ in the name of the law.” He looked directly at Douglas Green to see if he was going to object. When Green did not, Springer went on. “All right, then, let’s decide how we’re gonna do this.”
The discussion went on for a quarter of an hour, with some difference of opinion over whether to try to take Corbett and Sanchez alive, then hang them, or to surprise them in a blaze of gunfire and be done with it. “You say they’re in Maggie’s dining room?” Tucker asked Arthur Campbell.
“Well, they were when I left,” Campbell said. “I reckon they’re still there.”
“Then I say let’s jump ’em while they’re settin’ there stuffin’ their gullets,” Tucker said. “Don’t give ’em a chance to reach for their guns.”
“I reckon that’s the safest way to do it,” Bloodworth said. “If all five of us go in shootin’, I don’t expect they’ll be ready for that. I’m for it.”
“Anybody got any objections?” Tucker asked, again looking at Green. No one said anything. “All right, everybody’s in. It’s important that every one of us shoots the bastards. We don’t want to give ’em any chance to fight. Agreed?” Everyone nodded. “All right, then, let’s go show the sons of bitches who owns this town!”
“I didn’t bring my gun,” Arthur Campbell said. “I wasn’t sure we were gonna do something like this right away.”
“Well, what the hell did you think we were meetin’ for?” Springer blurted. “I swear, Arthur.”
“Never mind,” Bloodworth said. “I’ve got an extra gun in the feed room. He can use that.”
He hurried to the feed room in the middle of the stable and took a .44 handgun and holster off a peg by the door. Before handing it to Campbell, he checked the cylinder to see if it was loaded. Campbell strapped the gun belt around his waist, looking slightly uncomfortable as he did so, causing Springer to look at Tucker and shake his head in doubt.
“Now,” Bloodworth said, “everybody ready? Let’s go.”
• • •
The short-staffed version of the Gunnysack Gang had taken longer to make their decision to act than they realized, for the two they came to assassinate had finished their supper and were preparing to leave the dining room.
“You can just run us a bill,” Slade told Mary Lou when she asked them to pay. “We’ll settle up at the end of the week.”
“The hell we will,” Mary Lou said. “We don’t run credit lines here. You were supposed to pay before you ate anyway.”
“We’ll settle up at the end of the week,” Slade repeated emphatically. Then he smiled wickedly and said, “If you’ve got to have it now, you can come up to the room to collect it. I might even give you a little bit extra.”
His suggestion caused a feeling of nausea in the pit of her stomach. She did not say anything for a few moments, knowing that there was nothing she could do to make them pay for their meal. Mary Lou looked with contempt from Slade’s lascivious grin to Sanchez’s crude sneer. Knowing the evil they had done, and what they were capable of when no one was around to stop them, she was suddenly overcome by a deep feeling of fear. Concerned for her safety, she spun on her heel and fled to the kitchen to find Maggie kneeling behind the table, her shotgun aimed at the door. With no gun of her own, Mary Lou grabbed a butcher knife from the table and stood behind Maggie. Prepared to defend themselves, they waited for one of the men to appear in the doorway.
Sanchez had started toward the kitchen when Slade suddenly stopped him. He had taken a quick look out the window to discover five heavily armed men walking around the building toward the back door.
“Hold on, Sanchez,” he said. “I think we got company comin’ to see us.” He stepped up closer to the window for a better look. “Ain’t that the son of a bitch that runs the hotel?”
Sanchez moved to the other side of the window to see for himself.
“Yeah,” he said, “that’s him, and the man that owns the stable. Looks like some of the fine citizens of Cheyenne are plannin’ to pay us a little visit.” Like Corbett, Sanchez had no fear of a hastily formed handful of the town’s businessmen. They were a far cry from an angry lynch mob.
“Well, now,” Slade said, “that’s right neighborly, ain’t it? Let’s get ready to welcome them.” He watched from the window until they disappeared around the corner of the building. “They’re comin’ through the kitchen. Let’s turn a couple of these tables over.”
They worked quickly, turning two tables over to serve as barriers. Once that was done, Slade directed Sanchez to one corner of the large room while he went to the opposite one. They both knelt down behind the corner tables and chairs and waited.
Maggie gasped, startled, when the back door opened and Jesse Springer led four of the town’s businessmen into her kitchen, signaling her to remain silent. Whispering quietly, she was at once alarmed as she tried to tell him to take the fight outside, even as they tiptoed around her with their weapons drawn, intent upon attacking.
“It’s too late now,” he told her. “You and Mary Lou best find you a place to hide till it’s over.”
“You’re too late to surprise them,” Mary Lou warned. “They saw you through the window and turned a couple of the tables over to use for cover. Why in hell didn’t you come up the alley?”
“That woulda been the smart thing to do,” Alvin Tucker whispered. “But we didn’t. Anyway, them tables ain’t gonna be much cover when we hit ’em all at once.” He turned to the others in the posse. “Hit ’em with everything you’ve got, as fast as you can shoot.” He looked at Springer and received a nod to show he was ready. “Me and Springer will lead the charge. They won’t know what hit ’em.”
They inched up closer around the doorway, taking care not to show themselves through the open door too soon.
“Everybody ready?” Tucker whispered. “Let’s go!” he yelled then as he and Springer charged through the doorway, blasting away at the two overturned tables on the other side of the room. Like a cavalry assault on an enemy position, the five-man vigilante posse unleashed a blistering barrage, knocking great chunks of wood from the two tables and splitting the tops in their fury.
They realized too late that there was no one behind the tables and they had blundered into a trap. Tucker and Springer were cut down almost instantly by gunshots from the corners of the room. The resulting panic to escape the lethal return fire led to a rush to retreat, but not before Arthur Campbell caught a round in his left thigh and Leon Bloodworth was hit in the shoulder. The only member of the posse who escaped with no wounds was Douglas Green by virtue of his tendency to hang behind during an attack. Consumed by fright when the tide of the battle turned immediately in favor of the two outlaws, he sought a place to hide. Seeing the pantry door, he plunged inside where Maggie and Mary Lou had taken refuge. Bloodworth and Campbell, limping along as best they could, escaped out the back door.
As suddenly as it started, the shooting stopped, and in a few seconds, the three hiding in the pantry could hear the sound of heavy boots in the kitchen, walking toward the back door.
“Yonder!” Slade blurted as he caught sight of Campbell rounding the back corner of the rooms behind the kitchen. His exclamation was followed at once by a couple of shots. “Too late, they’re gone. Don’t matter. We’ll find ’em and finish the job.” He saw that as no problem since the vigilantes had not bothered to wear masks. He recognized both men as the owner of the hotel and the operator of the stables.
Inside the pantry Douglas Green squeezed between the two women, trying to hide himself behind them. When they tried to resist his efforts, he pleaded, “Please, they won’t hurt you women, but they’ll kill me. I can hide behind your skirts if you’ll stand together.” It was easy to feel contempt for the man’s cowardice, but difficult not to feel sorry for him, for he was probably right.
So they stood close together while he squatted on the floor behind their skirts, trembling in fright, as the sound of the outlaws’ boots could be heard when they walked back toward the dining room. Then they stopped and came back to stand before the pantry door. Suddenly the door was jerked open to reveal Slade Corbett standing there with his .44 aimed at them. There was no shot fired, however, as a cruel sneer spread across his unshaven face.
“Well, well,” he said, smirking, “lookee here, Sanchez. The ladies didn’t run out on us after all.” He took a step backward and holstered his pistol. “Come on outta there, ladies. We wouldn’t want nothin’ to happen to you.”
“Shoot them!” Sanchez insisted. “We don’t leave no witnesses.”
“Why not?” Slade replied. “Hell, we need witnesses. They saw that bunch try to kill us. We just defended ourselves. We didn’t start it.” He found it amusing that it was actually the case. “Besides, we don’t wanna kill the cook, and we might find some better use for ’em, too.” Turning back to the women, he repeated, “Come on outta there.” He took another step back when the two women hesitated. “We ain’t gonna hurtcha.”
Conscious of the frightened man trembling behind them, they moved out of the pantry, staying as close together as possible, hoping to shield him from view.
“Make us some coffee, and cut a big slice of that pie on the counter there. Shootin’ cowards makes me hungry,” Slade declared, confident that there would be no further attacks from the citizens of Cheyenne, and riding high after repelling the citizens’ attack. Mary Lou and Maggie stepped quickly out of the pantry and closed the door behind them. Too busy enjoying the confrontation just finished to think about taking a closer look inside the pantry, the two outlaws pulled a couple of chairs up to the kitchen table to await their dessert, unconcerned about the crowd of spectators gathering outside the hotel, curious to see what the gunshots were about.
“Ain’t none of ’em got brass enough to come in to find out what the noise was,” Slade gloated, knowing that he and Sanchez had just destroyed the only semblance of law and order in the whole town. “We’ll let them three that got away set on it for a while. We got all the time in the world to settle with them—let ’em sweat for a spell.”
Forced to sit there in the kitchen while the two outlaws had pie and coffee, Mary Lou and Maggie could only hope that they would eventually finish and leave them in peace. Realizing just how defenseless she was if the depraved monsters decided to press her beyond the harmless flirting stage, Mary Lou wanted to run. But she could not in good conscience leave Maggie to deal with them alone.
After consuming his dried apple pie, Sanchez drew a long skinning knife and began cleaning his fingernails with the tip of it, all the while leering at her as if undressing her with his eyes. Suddenly she was surprised by a question from Corbett.
“Where do you sleep? I know you ain’t got no husband. I reckon I’ll bunk in with you tonight. Where do you live?”
“I don’t remember giving you an invitation,” Mary Lou replied, as boldly as she could affect.
“I don’t need no invitation,” Slade said. “You’ll be better off when you get it straight in your head that you’re lucky I claimed you. Sanchez here, he don’t leave ’em in too good a shape. Now, me, I know how to treat a lady, long as she don’t give me no hard time. So you might as well tell me where you live so I won’t have to beat it outta you.”
“All right,” Mary Lou said. “I live two miles north of town on the Lodgepole Creek Road.”
Slade smiled smugly. “Now, you know that’s a damn lie. You live right here in town. Where? In the hotel?” Mary Lou didn’t answer. “That’s what I thought,” he said. “Which room number?” Still, she refused to answer. “Listen, you damn bitch, I ain’t got time to play games with you.” He grabbed her by her wrist and pulled her up close to him, his fist drawn back to strike her.
“Wait!” Maggie yelled. “She lives upstairs in the hotel, room number four at the back of the hall.” She knew that room was vacant, and had been since the last guest knocked the stove over and burned a big patch in the floor.
Slade backhanded Mary Lou, almost knocking her down. “If you had just told me that, you wouldn’ta got smacked. That ain’t but two doors down from my room. That’ll be real handy.” She steeled herself to keep her mouth shut, afraid that Maggie had put herself in danger by trying to help her. “Now, let me tell you how things are gonna be while I’m in town,” Slade continued, convinced that he now owned it. “I like to do a little drinkin’ and playin’ cards. And when I’m done with that, I want my woman waitin’ for me. So I’ll be knockin’ on your door tonight, and if you ain’t there, I’ll track you down. And, missy, when I find you, it ain’t gonna be pleasant. Do you understand me?” When she didn’t answer, he grabbed her by her throat and shook her. “Do you!”
“Yes, damn it,” she cried, “I understand you.”
“Good,” he said, and released her. “Come on, Sanchez, let’s go get a drink.”
The two women stood staring at the door after they had gone, still stunned by all that had taken place, scarcely able to believe it had actually happened. The world had gone completely loco to let an evil force like those two take over an entire town. Looking through the open door, they could see the bodies of Jesse Springer and Alvin Tucker, and knew that there was no one left to protect them, or any of the other decent people in the town.
“You shouldn’t have told him I was living in the hotel,” Mary Lou said.
“You sure as hell couldn’t tell him where your room is,” Maggie replied. “And he looked like he was about to beat it outta you.”
“But now he’s got a reason to come after you,” Mary Lou said. “What are you gonna do?”
“I’ve got my shotgun, and I’m gonna keep it by my side from now on,” Maggie said. “It’s gonna cost him plenty if he comes after me. I’m too old to worry about that piece of slime bothering me, anyway. I’m more worried about you. Have you got a gun?”
“Yes, I’ve got a Colt revolver in my room, and I’ll use it before I let that monster touch me again.”
She reached up and felt the bruise already forming on her cheek. Her natural sense of survival told her to run, but there was no place to run to. Everything she owned was in her room behind the kitchen. She had no horse, and no one to help her. With Jim Thompson dead, there was no one to go to for help. And in the dining room, there were just the three women, she and Maggie and Beulah, Maggie’s part-time cook. “What are you going to do about the dining room?” Mary Lou wondered then.
“I’m gonna close it, I guess,” Maggie said. “I don’t see how I can try to keep it open as long as the hoodlums have taken over the town.”
“Corbett talked like he expected you to cook for him.”
“He can cook for himself,” Maggie said, “or take his meals at the Sundown Saloon. When Beulah shows up in the morning, I’m gonna send her home.”
Her cook had been fortunate to have just gone home before Corbett and Sanchez came in. Further discussion was interrupted then by the squeaking of the hinges as the pantry door was cautiously eased open. In the aftermath of the violence, they had forgotten the frightened man still hiding in the pantry.
They both turned to gaze at the timid storekeeper as he peeked out of the partially opened door, reluctant to come out until positively sure the killers had gone.
“Come on out, Mr. Green,” Mary Lou told him. “They’re gone.” He came forward then, holding his shotgun in front of him in an effort to hide the extensive wet stain spreading on his trousers. Intent upon fleeing, he headed straight for the back door. “Wait a minute,” Mary Lou said. “You can at least give us a hand getting these two bodies out of the dining room.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t,” he said. “I’ve got to get home. You two oughta be able to drag them out the front door so Harvey White can pick them up and prepare them for burial.”
“Yeah, you’d better hurry home,” Maggie mocked. “Your family might need somebody to protect them.”
“God help them if they do,” Mary Lou added as he slipped out the door. She turned to look at the two bodies again and sighed. “Well, let’s drag them outta the dining room. There’s nothing more we can do with them. Maybe we can send one of those fools still standing around in the street to go get Harvey.”