The windows of the Sawtooth Café were steamed up and the men inside were visible only as blurred and distorted figures. A man was alone at a center table and two other men sat at the counter. A male server moved behind the counter, a phantom wearing a white apron and a small cap.
Alvin opened the door and entered the café. Right behind him was Slocum, adjusting his eyes to the glare of lamplight.
He looked first at the man sitting at the table, a scattergun laid upon the seat of an empty chair.
The man wore a badge on his chest.
“Howdy, Alvin,” Tom Brody said when he saw Callaway. “Who you got with you?”
The two men at the counter turned around and looked at Alvin and Slocum. Then, they turned back to the coffee steaming in cups on the counter.
“I’m still shiverin’ from bein’ on that roof,” one of them said. “Alvin.”
Alvin said nothing. He stepped aside and Slocum moved within ten feet of Brody’s table.
“The name’s Slocum,” Slocum said to Brody.
“You a friend of Alvin’s just come to town?”
“I’m a friend of his,” Slocum said.
“Pull up a chair,” Brody said.
Just then, outside the café, Jerry Bassett walked up to the door. He opened it a crack when he saw the blurred figure in black. One look at Slocum and he backed out, with a rapid thumping of his heart.
“Good godamighty,” he muttered to himself and then strode quickly away toward the hotel.
Slocum didn’t turn around when he heard the door open and close. Instead, he kept his gaze on Brody as Alvin moved toward the counter, his right hand on the grip of his pistol.
“Set down, Alvin,” one of the men said. “Coffee’s hot and—”
That was as far as he got, because Slocum cut him off.
“Brody, you got a choice,” Slocum said.
Tom stiffened his back as he sat upright in his chair.
“Huh?”
“You can saddle your horse and ride out of town, or have a lead breakfast.” Slocum’s right hand floated down to the butt of his .45 Colt.
“What in hell’s wrong with you, man?” Brody snapped back. His chair scraped as he scooted away from the table.
“Your marshaling days are over, Brody,” Slocum said. “Right now.”
“Why, you sonofabitch. . . .” Brody said, and clawed for his six-gun in its holster.
That was as far as he got.
Slocum’s draw was smooth and lightning quick.
The Colt jumped out of its holster in his hand. He thumbed the hammer back on the rise. The two men at the counter turned around. They faced Alvin with a pistol in his hand, the barrel leveled at the nearest man, Lew Crane, one of Bledsoe’s sentries. The man next to him, Barry Vernon, gaped at Alvin in disbelief.
Brody’s hand gripped the butt of his pistol. He pulled on the gun, but Slocum squeezed the trigger of his Colt. The pistol bucked in his hand. A fiery orange jet and a plume of smoke shot from the muzzle as the noise of the explosion filled the room and bounced off the walls. The server dropped a plate of food and crouched down, his hands flying to his ears to shut off the boom of the pistol.
Brody’s mouth hung open as the bullet from Slocum’s gun pierced the top of his breastbone just below the V of his throat. He gagged on blood. His hand went slack and his pistol hung halfway out of its holster. He toppled over, blood spurting from his wound. He gurgled as more blood poured from his mouth and slid over his lower lip. He kicked once or twice after his body hit the floor, and then lay still.
Slocum swung his pistol toward the men at the counter.
“You boys got the same choice,” Slocum said. “Ride out of town and no questions asked. Or we’ll drop you both where you sit.”
“Alvin, what the hell’s goin’ on?” Barry Vernon asked.
“You heard the man. Light a shuck and live, or die right here, Barry.”
“You a turncoat, Alvin?” Lew Crane asked, a scratchy husk in his voice.
“Your days of gunning for Bledsoe are over, boys,” Slocum said. They both heard the snick of his hammer as he thumbed his pistol to full cock.
“I’ll be damned,” Barry said. “You’re the jasper what shot Carlos and Fidel, damned if you ain’t.”
“That’s right,” Alvin said.
“Just lay your guns on the counter and walk out of here,” Slocum said. “I won’t shoot you when you go.”
The two men looked at each other. They were outgunned and they knew it.
“Just what is it you’re tryin’ to do, mister?” Vernon asked.
“Clean the town of scum like you and that man on the floor,” Slocum said.
“He means business,” Alvin said. “Better take him real serious.”
Slowly, the two men slipped their pistols out of their holsters. They held them by the butts and lay them on the counter.
“Leave your rifles, too,” Slocum said. “Just saddle up and skedaddle out of Sawtooth.”
“Yes, sir,” the men chorused. They rose from their stools and walked past Alvin.
“We’re goin’,” Vernon said, “but you’re buckin’ the odds with just you two.”
“We’ll see about that,” Slocum said. His pistol swung toward them as they walked to the door and opened it.
“Git!” Alvin barked and the two men jumped outside. The door swung closed.
Slocum looked at the man behind the counter, who rose from his crouch, his hands in the air.
“You’re closed for the day,” Slocum told him.
“Yes, sir, we’re closing,” the man said, and went through the door into the kitchen. Slocum heard him tell the cook to shut down the stove fires and go home.
“Collect their guns, Alvin, and put their pistols in a sack. Lug one of the rifles. I’ll tote the other one and that scattergun.”
Slocum holstered his pistol and hefted his rifle to his right hand as he walked toward the chair where the scattergun lay. Alvin went behind the counter, rummaged around, and found an empty flour sack. He put the pistols in the sack and picked up one of the rifles that leaned against the lower face of the counter. Slocum took the other rifle and tucked the scattergun under his left arm.
“What should we do with these?” Alvin asked Slocum.
“Put them in my room for now. At the hotel. If we see any more of Bledsoe’s men, we’ll have to divest them of their hardware, too. Dead or alive.”
Bledsoe was just getting dressed when he heard a persistent and loud pounding on his door. He stiffened in alarm. He reached for the pistol that was lying on the nightstand next to his bed and snatched it up.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me, Jerry,” came the answer.
Bledsoe walked toward the door, pistol in hand.
“What the hell do you want?” Bledsoe demanded as he stood at the closed door.
“I got to talk to you. He’s here, Hiram, here in town.”
Bledsoe opened the door cautiously. He looked at Jerry, then past him down the empty hall.
“Get in,” he said. He waved his pistol at Jerry, then closed the door quickly and latched it.
Jerry Bassett walked to the table and stood there. His hands shook and he had the unmistakable look of fear on his face.
Hiram walked over to him.
“Sit down and tell me what the hell you’re talkin’ about, Jerry. I’m in no mood for bullshit.”
Bassett sat down. His hands still shook and they flew around like scared birds.
“That man in black,” Jerry said. “I saw him. The one who shot Cass. He’s the one who kilt Fidel and Carlos, but now he’s wearin’ black.”
“Where did you see him?” Bledsoe asked as he sat across the table from Bassett. He laid the pistol on the table within easy reach.
“At the café. He was there with Alvin. Tom Brody was a-settin’ there all by hisself and I saw Vernon and Lew Crane at the counter. I backed out of there real quick and run up here to tell you what’s what.”
“Are you sayin’ that the man in black is Dave Sinclair?” Bledsoe asked.
“It’s him all right. I didn’t need a second look. That Sinclair feller was wearin’ old duds, but it’s the same man. He’s dressed plumb in black now.”
“Jesus,” Bledsoe said. His brow knitted as he thought of what a fool he’d been. Alvin, too, unless he was in cahoots with the man in black. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. Then he looked up at Bassett with his head lowered. Jerry looked like a man who had seen a ghost. His face was drained of color and his eyes were wide.
So, Bledsoe thought, who was this man who had killed three of his men? What was he doing in Sawtooth? What was he after?
“Do you think Tom knew who he was, this man in black?”
Jerry shook his head.
“I don’t think so. It looked like a showdown to me. Men don’t stand there like that. He had a rifle in his left hand and a black gun belt with a Colt stickin’ out of his holster. He was bracin’ Tom all right. And I think Alvin was fixin’ to plug Lew and Vernon.”
“This is a hell of a note.”
“What do you think we ought to do, boss?” Jerry asked.
“Go find some of the men, Jerry. Bring ’em up here. I got to think. Maybe them miners are fixin’ to come back to town with them new rifles.”
“All hell’s goin’ to break loose if that’s so,” Jerry said.
“You see that man again, you shoot him dead. Hear?” Bledsoe’s neck swelled and his face flushed. He picked up the pistol and looked at it with intensity. It was a Smith & Wesson .38-caliber revolver. Small but deadly.
“You want the men on the roofs to come here, Hiram?” Jerry asked.
“Round up a half dozen. We got to keep men watchin’ for them gold grubbers. Find ’em quick. I’ll figger out somethin’.”
“I don’t know if I can find that many right close,” Jerry said.
“Find as many as you can. Go.”
Bledsoe waved Jerry away from his chair. Jerry rose and took quick steps to the door. He unlatched it and closed it behind him.
Bledsoe walked to the door, gripping his pistol.
He opened the door and saw the hind end of Jerry as he turned to go down the stairs. He closed the door quickly and latched it.
Hiram walked slowly back to the bar. He was hungry, but his nerves were jangling like a tote sack full of brass bells.
He laid the pistol on the bartop and reached for a glass. Then he poured three fingers of Scotch into the glass. It would be like medicine for him. It tasted like medicine anyway. He licked his lips and then drank, filling his mouth with the aromatic liquid.
He stood there and closed his eyes. Images began to jump around in his mind. Dark men in black clothes. Faces like wild beasts. They came at him in his twisted imagination, all rushing toward him with rifles and pistols and flashing knives.
He screamed in the corridors of his mind and began to crumple as if he’d just gone into some kind of spasm. He jerked upright and opened his eyes. The afterimages still remained and he began to shake with fear.
It was all closing in on him. The man in black. Traitors in his midst. He could trust no one. He trusted no one. They were all after him. They all wanted to kill him.
Well, he’d show them. He would kill them before they could blink an eye.
He would kill every damned one of them.
Then, he would piss on their graves.