TWENTY-THREE
Ben Randolph finished his drink, picked up the bottle, and found it empty. Just as well. Time to turn in. It was getting late and the next day would be a big one.
He was about to get up from his table in the saloon when three of his men walked in—Lane Barrett and two others. He waited while they each got a beer and then walked over to his table.
“Want a drink, Ben?” Barrett asked.
“Nope,” Randolph said. “I just finished and was headed to bed. You boys ought to do the same. We got a big day tomorrow.”
“So tomorrow’s it, huh?” Lane asked. “The day we collect?”
“That’s right.”
“You mind if I sit a minute?”
“A minute’s all you got.”
Lane jerked his head at the other two men, who reluctantly withdrew to the bar. Lane sat down across from Randolph. The gang leader remembered that Lane Barrett and the other two had joined him at the same time. The three of them always stuck together.
“Me and the boys been wonderin’,” Lane said.
“Wonderin’ what?”
“About the money.”
“There’ll be plenty of money.”
“Yeah, but there’s . . . what? Twenty-five of us? How you gonna pay us all off?”
“Don’t you worry about that, Lane,” Randolph said. “That’s my problem.”
“Well . . . I was just tryin’ to be helpful to ya, Ben,” Lane said.
“In what way?”
“Well, I was thinkin’, ya really don’t have to pay off everybody, do you?”
“Well,” Randolph said, “I don’t have to pay everyone the same amount.”
“We was thinkin’ of not payin’ some people at all.”
“And who were you thinkin’ of leavin’ out?” Randolph asked.
“Mostly we been thinkin’ of who to leave in,” Lane explained.
“The three of you, of course.”
“Yeah,” Lane said, “and a few of the others. I mean, we’re gonna do most of the work. We’re the ones who killed those five hired guns the old man sent after you.”
“That’s true.”
“And you can count on us.”
“That’s true, too.”
“So it’s better to pay off seven maybe eight men, and not the rest.”
“And what do we do with the rest?” Randolph asked.
“Well, that’s up for discussion.”
“We can’t run out on them,” Randolph said. “Although if we did, I’m the one they’d go lookin’ for.”
“Well, yeah . . .”
“You weren’t worried about that, were you?”
“We’d back ya, Ben,” Lane said. “No worries there. Of course, we could kill ’em all.”
“In their sleep?”
“That’s one way.”
“That’s kind of bloodthirsty, isn’t it, Lane?” Randolph asked.
“Just money hungry, Ben,” Lane said. “If we can figure out a way to do it without killin’ them, I’m all for it.”
“I tell you what,” Randolph said. “I’ll give it some thought.”
“Sure, sure,” Lane said, “you do that.”
“Now I’m going to turn in. See you in the morning, at the livery, like we planned.”
“Sure, Ben,” Lane said. “We’ll meet ya there. Good night.”
Randolph stood up, didn’t looked at the men standing by the bar, and left the saloon.
After Randolph was gone, the other two men joined Lane Barrett at the table.
“What’d he say?” Horace Brandt asked.
“He’s gonna think about it.”
“You think he really will?” Abner Grant asked.
“It don’t matter,” Lane said. “Whether he goes for the idea or not, we’re gonna end up with all that money.”
“How many we got backin’ us?” Abner asked.
“Five,” Lane said. “The eight of us can handle the rest.”
“And then what?” Brandt asked.
Lane looked at them both. “Then we’ll handle the other five. We’re gonna split a helluva lot of money three ways, boys.”