Chapter Thirty-six
When the brothers O’Brien rode into Recoil the town was in a festive mood. Sheriff Clitherow had spread the good news that the threat from the night riders was over. The bomb-damaged Rest and Be Thankful went as far as hanging red, white, and blue bunting from the second story balcony and the proprietor hinted that cake and ice cream might be available for all guests.
“Looks like we arrived just in time to join the party,” Patrick said as they rode past a brightly lit, roaring saloon.
As though the man in the moon wanted to be a part of the celebration, his face was flushed as he beamed down on the town.
But Jacob didn’t figure it that way. “Blood on the moon. That’s never a good sign.”
“Good enough sign for me.” Shawn grinned. “After we find Pa and Luther, I’m going to do some celebrating myself.”
“So where do we start?” Patrick asked. “The hotel?”
“No, right there.” Jacob pointed down the street. “The sheriff’s office is as good a place to start as any.”
The O’Briens stepped inside. Shamus and Ironside were talking to Clitherow. He looked up at their entrance and was immediately alarmed by the sudden appearance of three rugged young men who bore the stamp of gun hands.
Shamus saw the look on the lawman’s face and said, “Relax, Jim. They may look like desperadoes, but they’re my sons.”
After the smiles and hugs and the how-the-hell-are-you greetings of rough-hewn men, Jim Clitherow declared that a celebration was in order and produced a bottle of Old Crow. When everyone had a whiskey in hand, Shamus and Ironside took turns recounting all that had happened after they rode away from Dromore.
“Pa,” Patrick said, “you two could’ve easily gotten yourselves killed. You can’t go around inviting gun trouble like that.”
“The two-bit gunman hasn’t been born yet who can kill the colonel and me,” Ironside said. When nobody volunteered a comment, he added, “Damn right they can’t.”
“English Nate Condor is a man to step around, Luther,” Jacob said. “He’s fast and he’s a killer.”
“You’ve met him, Jacob?” Shamus asked.
“No, heard of him is all. I understand he was a slave trader at one point in his life and the sick and old ones he couldn’t sell he used for target practice.”
“Sounds like the kind of thing he’d do.” Clitherow sipped his whiskey and made a face. “Now he’s enjoying wine, women, and song in Old Mexico, unless Dallas Steele succeeds in tracking him down.”
“Dallas was here?” Jacob said, surprised. In telling his story Shamus hadn’t mentioned the Pinkerton by name.
“He was here, investigating the lost army payroll for the government,” Clitherow said.
Shamus looked at his youngest. He said he knew you, Jacob.”
“He does. And I owe him a favor from way back.”
“What kind of favor, Jake?” Ironside asked. Then, with enthusiasm, “I’m thinking that gunplay was involved, huh?”
“It was four years ago. I got hit over the head with a bottle—”
“A bottle!” Ironside said. “Damn, was it empty or full?”
“Luther, allow Jacob to tell his story.” Shamus nodded to his son. “Go ahead, Jacob.”
“Well, to make a long story short, I got hit over the head—with an empty bottle, Luther—and rolled when I walked out of a grog shop on the Barbary Coast. I guess the robbers didn’t want to leave a live witness, so they came back to make sure I was dead. But Dallas showed up and scared them off. I had a headache for a few days and since they took all my money, I was flat broke. Dallas insisted on paying my way.”
“Did you get them robbers, Jake, like I teached you?” Ironside asked eagerly.
“As Shawn said to me recently, I’m not a forgiving man,” Jacob said. “As soon as I was well enough I went looking for those two. Found them in a dance hall and stated my intentions. They drew and I killed them both. After that I had to skip town. I’ve met a Dallas a few times since then, and every time we talk, I tell him I owe him and that I’ll pay him back one day.”
Shamus’s face was slack-jawed with amazement. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, boy, you lead a life none of us know anything about.”
Jacob smiled, but said nothing.
“Well, you done fine, boy,” Ironside said. “And it’s real good that them two scoundrels were informed. That’s a Southern gentleman’s way of doing things, just like I taught you.”
“It’s also the way a Southern gentleman repays his debts,” Shamus said. “I can understand why you feel beholden to Dallas Steele.”
“What about Dromore?” Ironside asked. “Anything interesting happened since we’ve been gone?”
“And how are Samuel and Lorena and little Shamus?” the colonel asked.
“They’re just fine, Pa,” Patrick said. “But—”
Jacob interrupted quickly. “We had a run-in with Mexican bandits, but nothing much came of it.”
“Nothing much!” Shawn said. “Jake, you’ve still got a scar across your ribs where Álvaro Castillo’s bullet burned you and Pat almost got shot in the head.” He smiled at the colonel. “And we won a battle, Pa.”
“A battle!” Shamus said. “Tell me about it now, and tell me no more.”
“We call it the Battle of the Pecos River, Pa,” Patrick said. “As the Duke of Wellington said after Waterloo, ‘it was a close run thing.’”
“Tell me the story,” Shamus said, his face flaring. “Now!”
“Yes, Colonel,” Patrick said.
He, Shawn, and Jacob took turns describing what had happened and Jacob described his killing of Álvaro Castillo on the mesa. “Maybe if Pat hadn’t decided to go butterfly hunting—”
“Collecting, collecting, collecting. How many times do I have to tell you that, Jake?”
“—it might have turned out differently,” Jacob said.
Ironside was stunned. “You went hunting butterflies without a gun, Pat?”
Patrick gave him a long-suffering look. “They’re not dangerous game, Luther.”
“Damn it, boy, you’re damned lucky I wasn’t there,” Ironside said. “You’re not so growed up that I wouldn’t have dropped your britches and tanned your hide. Didn’t I tell you, not once, not twicet, but a hundred times, never to walk out of the house without your iron?”
“Luther, it’s eighteen eighty-seven,” Shamus said. “The time for carrying guns everywhere is past. Patrick didn’t need a Colt to go butterfly hunting.”
“Collecting, Pa,” Patrick said wearily.
“Well, all that aside, when we get back, I’m going to erect a monument with a brass plaque commemorating the Battle of the Pecos River,” Shamus said. “You boys did very well and I’m proud of you.”
“And your sons should be proud of you, Colonel O’Brien,” Clitherow said. “You and Luther stood up like men and played your part.”
“Thank you, Jim,” Shamus said. ”Anytime—”
“I’ll send for you,” the sheriff said, smiling.
Shamus nodded. “Well, we’ll ride for Lordsburg tomorrow morning, catch a train for Santa Fe, and then on to Dromore.”
“Not me, Colonel,” Jacob said. “I reckon I’ll pay back Dallas Steele the favor I owe him.”
“I don’t understand, son.”
“I’m headed for Chihuahua down Old Mexico way.”
“Jake, that’s long-riding country,” Shawn said. “Finding Steele will be like looking for a needle in a haystack.”
“I pay my debts, Shawn. Dallas headed southeast from the Apache Hills into Mexico and that’s where I’ll start looking.”
“How many men does Condor have, Sheriff?” Shawn asked.
“I don’t know. Enough, I reckon. And I think he may be traveling with a woman. We didn’t find her body, at least.”
“Then you’re not going it alone, Jake,” Shawn said. “I’ll ride with you.”
“We’ll all ride with you,” Shamus said. “I will not stay behind and watch my sons ride into mortal danger. What do you say, Luther?”
“I’m goin’, Colonel. Ain’t nobody gonna stop me, an’ that includes you, Jake.”
“Luther, I wouldn’t even try.”
“Damn right you wouldn’t.”
Shamus looked at his second born. “Patrick?”
“Count me in, Pa.”
“Don’t bring your butterfly net, Pat,” Shawn said.
“Shawn, that’s quite enough,” Shamus said. “Don’t tease your brother. If he wants to hunt butterflies, then let him.”
“Collect, damn it!” Patrick yelled. “It’s collect!”
Everyone looked at him in surprise.