Bledsoe’s men began to gather in his hotel room. This gave him a feeling of security, bonded with more than a modicum of suspicion.
He studied each man as he opened the door and ushered them inside. He also noted which of his men had entered and which ones were missing. When the last man had entered, he looked at all of them as they sat on chairs or leaned against the wall.
“Where are Lew Crane and Barry Vernon?” he asked Jerry Bassett.
“Alec at the livery said they both come in real early, saddled their horses, and lit out of town. He said they had empty holsters and no rifles.”
Jerry looked sheepish and kept shuffling his boots back and forth as he stood near the bar. He looked downcast.
“They were on watch last night. Rooftop sentry duty,” Pete Eddings said. “Café was closed when I went by to break my fast this mornin’.”
“Shit,” Bledsoe erupted. “What in hell is goin’ on here in Sawtooth?’
None of the men answered him right away.
“It’s that hombre wearin’ the black duds,” Jerry blurted out. “He must have scairt them boys when he shot and kilt Tom.”
There was a sucking of breaths among the assembled men.
“Does anybody know who this man is?” Bledsoe asked. “He not only killed Brody, but he was with that asshole Nolan and killed Cass, the bastard.”
“We don’t know who in hell he is, but he’s in town and raisin’ pure hell,” Jerry said.
“Didn’t you say he’s joined up with Alvin, Jerry?” a man named Faron Hackberry said.
“Yeah. The man in black was with Alvin and I can’t figger that one out.”
Bledsoe wondered about that himself. But he thought he knew the reason. Alvin had been part of the plot against him from the very beginning. He had put his trust in Alvin and now he was showing his true colors. He was a sneak and a snake. He had been in cahoots with the man in black all along. Just waiting for his chance to go against him.
“He’s a damned traitor,” Bledsoe exploded. “I never did trust Alvin.”
The men in the room were aghast. Besides Tom, Alvin had been the man closest to their boss. Many had been envious of him, in fact. Now it seemed that Bledsoe knew the truth. Had known it all along. They couldn’t figure it out either.
Just then, there was a loud knock on Bledsoe’s door.
“Jerry, see who it is,” Bledsoe ordered.
His face was flushed orange and his neck was swollen like a bull elk in heat. He toyed with the pistol in his hand, rubbing its barrel as if it were his prick, rubbing it up and down between two fingers. The men in the room were suddenly very nervous.
Jerry opened the door.
The man standing there was Tony Delfino. Jerry hadn’t been able to find him earlier that morning. Now he stood there, trembling all over his body and out of breath.
“It’s Tony,” Jerry said over his shoulder to Bledsoe.
“Well, tell him to come in,” Bledsoe bellowed.
Tony brushed past Jerry. He was a short wiry Italian with a hooked nose, Mediterranean blue eyes, a heavy four-day beard, hairy chest and arms, and a blatant white scar across his left cheek.
Jerry closed the door.
Tony rushed up to Bledsoe.
“Boss, boss,” he blurted out, “I rode up on the rimrock to take Joe Toomey his lunch sandwich and he’s dead. Shot dead and his horse is wanderin’ around like it was lost.”
“What?” Bledsoe bellowed.
“Joe’s been shot dead. Big old hole in his chest. Stiffen’ up like a board. His rifle lyin’ on the ground.”
“Damn,” Bledsoe said. The other men in the room looked at each other and then hung their heads for a moment. Worry fluttered over their faces like clown makeup.
“And somethin’ else, boss,” Tony said.
“What else, Tony? Isn’t that enough, damn it?” Bledsoe’s face reddened ever more.
“There wasn’t no Chinese a-workin’ the mines. Valley’s as quiet as an empty church.”
“Did you check the Chinese bunkhouse?” Bledsoe demanded.
“I went by there when I come back, wonderin’ if they was all still asleep. I rode up and listened for a few minutes. Didn’t hear no sounds from inside. So I got off my horse and banged on the door with my fists. Nobody answered, but I heard small noises inside. I tried the door and it was locked tight. They’re in there, all right, holed up like rats in a cellar.”
“Shit!” Bledsoe exclaimed. “What in hell is goin’ on here?”
Nobody answered him.
Finally, Jerry cleared his throat and offered an explanation.
“It’s that man and Alvin,” Jerry said. “Sure as shootin’ it’s them.”
Bledsoe continued to jack his pistol off with two fingers.
The men in the room shrank against the wall or hunkered down closer to the floor as if to turn invisible in case Bledsoe went off his rocker, cocked that pistol in his hand, and started shooting them down, one by one.
“I think you’re right, Jerry. Another man down and gone and now the Chinese are in on it. It’s that assassin in black and that damned Alvin, the bastards. Somethin’ sure as hell ain’t right. Two men goin’ around, killin’ Tom and now Joe. I want them found and I want them killed. I want those swine dead and buried before nightfall. Hear?”
The men all nodded. Some of them grunted in assent.
Tony’s eyes blazed. Jerry’s jaw hardened.
“We’ll hunt ’em down, boss,” Jerry said. “They can’t hide from all of us.”
“Damned right they can’t,” another man said.
“Boys,” Bledsoe said as he tucked his pistol in his pocket, “I’m going to offer a bounty to the man who shoots Alvin dead and that man with the black duds. A bounty for their fucking scalps. Hear me?”
“Yeah,” the men chorused.
Those at the wall pulled away from it and became limber again. The men on the floor looked up at Bledsoe, suddenly interested in what he had to say.
“One thousand dollars to the man who kills that man in black,” Bledsoe said. “And . . . and five hunnert to whoever puts Alvin’s lamp out. Got that?”
“We’ll get him,” Jerry said. “We’ll get both of ’em.”
All of the men nodded, their faces reflecting their common resolve.
“By nightfall,” Bledsoe said. “Stamp them into the ground. Cut off their fucking heads. It ain’t dead or alive, hear? It’s dead. Dead, dead, dead.” His voice rose to a feminine pitch and was almost a squeak.
The men on the floor got to their feet. They all made ready to leave.
“Go, all of you but Jerry and Tony. The rest of you go out and hunt those bastards down. Kill ’em.”
All of the men went to the door, opened it, and left the room.
Jerry and Tony waited, their gazes fixed on Bledsoe.
“Boys, I want you to keep an eye out for Ralph Fossey. He ought to be comin’ in to report what’s goin’ on with them miners. You see him, you bring him straight to me.”
“You goin’ to stay here in your room, boss?” Jerry asked.
“Damned right I am. Until those two are wolf meat, I’ll be right here. And if they come bargin’ in here, I’ll fill ’em both full of lead.”
“Yes, boss,” Jerry said.
Tony nodded.
“Keep a sharp eye out for Ralph. If all else fails, he’ll bring both those boys down. Now, go on. He might go to the saloon first and he’ll either tie his horse up to a hitchrail on the street or drop him off at the livery.”
Bledsoe ushered the two men out. He locked the door behind them. Then he walked to a wardrobe in his room that served as a gun cabinet.
He opened the cabinet door and reached inside. He pulled out a sawed-off Greener. He cracked the gun open and saw that it had two live shells in the twin barrels. He stooped down and picked up a box of 12-gauge buckshot. He closed the cabinet door and carried the box of shotshells to the table. He set them down and then laid the scattergun next to them. He sat down and breathed heavily for several seconds.
His mind was racing, inflamed by hatred and a conviction that every man in town was out to get him. First Alvin and now, who knew? He could no longer trust any of them who worked for him. And what about Ebenezer Scraggs and Alec at the livery? Even they were suspect in Bledsoe’s mind. And maybe even Delbert Wiggins, his lawyer. Where in hell was he? He must have known something was up, yet he hadn’t come to the room to ask questions.
The only man he trusted even a little bit now was Fossey. He had taken care of Jessie Nolan. He was to be trusted, Bledsoe was sure.
And he couldn’t wait until Fossey came down from the high timber and went after that traitor Alvin and the man in black.
Fossey would show them, all right.
He was the best killer a man could buy.