James decided not to catch up to Candy.
When he realized he could catch him, he had second thoughts. Why not keep tracking him, following him, until he rejoined the Fleming brothers? He was not the tracker his father or brother were, but he was enough of one to know he was a few hours behind the man.
At first he thought the meeting would be happening in Tucson, but when the tracks made it clear that Candy had bypassed the large town, he figured they’d be meeting someplace smaller.
Like, perhaps, Tubac, about fifty miles farther south. Or maybe he was on his way to Mexico.
But even before Tubac, James followed the trail to a gathering of buildings that didn’t look like a town or a ranch. Perhaps a settlement of some kind.
He reined in his horse within sight of the buildings, careful not to be seen. While he watched, several people walked or ran between the buildings, but he never saw Candy or the man’s horse. Behind one of the buildings was a corral with three horses in it, but Candy’s wasn’t one of them.
He finally decided to ride down and have a look. He guided his horse at an easy pace, so as not to spook anybody. As he approached, a woman came out of one of the buildings, which now looked like shacks. She was wearing a long blue dress that covered her from neck to ankles.
“Hello,” he called out.
She waved with one hand. The other hand was out of sight. As he got closer he saw that she didn’t look happy, and he saw something red on her dress. It was a stain, like . . . blood.
Abruptly, she brought her other hand around and pointed a gun at him.
“Need help with that?” he asked, showing her his empty hands. “I’m not here to threaten you in any way.”
“That’s what the other man said,” she replied.
“What other man?”
From behind him he heard a man say, “Your friend, who rode through here earlier.”
James turned his head and saw a man holding a rifle pointed at him. He raised his hands a little higher.
“I don’t have a friend out here,” he said, “but I am tracking somebody. A killer.”
“We can believe that,” the man said. “That he’s a killer. Climb off your horse—but first toss your gun down.”
“Now look—”
“Do it!”
James plucked his gun from his holster and dropped it to the ground.
“Now the rifle.”
He tossed the rifle after the pistol.
“Okay, now dismount.”
He did so, slowly.
“Turn around. Face me, not her.”
He looked at the woman, who he now saw was a girl, and a frightened one. Then he turned to face the man. At that moment, the man with the rifle saw the badge.
“Where’s that badge from?”
“Vengeance Creek.”
“I don’t know it.”
“It’s a little northwest of here,” James said. “No reason why you should have heard of it.”
“What are you doin’ out here?” the man asked.
“I told you,” James said, “I’m a deputy, tracking a killer.”
“And how do we know you ain’t a killer carryin’ a badge?” the man asked.
“Well,” James said, “all I’ve got is my word. I can’t offer any more than that.”
“This killer got a name?”
“Cannaday,” James said. “Dan Cannaday, but they call him Candy.”
“He told me to call him Candy, Pa,” the girl said.
“Quiet, girl.”
“I think he’s tellin’ the truth, Pa.”
“Girl, I told you—”
“That man shot my brother, Deputy,” the girl said. “Can you help him?”
“I can try,” James said. “I’ve patched my own brother up a time or two.”
“Glory—” the man said.
“Eddie needs help, Pa!” she said.
The man with the rifle looked to be in his fifties and kept flexing his hands on the rifle nervously.
“Mister,” James said, “just don’t get nervous with that gun, and I’ll see what I can do. I don’t need my guns. You can leave them out here on the ground.”
“I’ll pick ’em up,” the man said. “But yeah, okay, let’s go inside.”
“This way,” the girl said, finally lowering the gun. “Please hurry!”
She led him to the shack she had come out of. He heard the man behind him pick up his guns and follow.
As he entered the building, he saw a boy about fifteen years old, bleeding from what looked like a belly wound. He was lying on his back on a cot, and somebody had made an attempt to bandage him.
“Candy did this?” James asked.
“Yes,” the girl said. “He rode in, said he wanted to trade horses. We negotiated some money, also, so he went to look at what we had in the corral. When he saw them he got angry, pulled his gun. They weren’t worth tradin’ for, he said.”
“He thought we had other horse somewhere else,” the man said, taking up the story. “We told him we didn’t, but he thought we were lying. He . . . he shot my son, to make a point.”
James got down on his knees next to the boy’s cot. His face was pale and sweaty, his eyes shiny.
“Then what happened?”
“He finally believed us,” the girl said, “and he rode on.”
James wondered why, if Candy shot the boy, he didn’t shoot them, as well. He moved the boy’s shirt, and the makeshift bandage, to examine the wound. He had lied to them. He’d never treated Thomas for a gunshot, but he had watched his father do it.
The wound wasn’t as bad as he first thought. The bullet hadn’t hit him in the belly, but the side. Still, the bullet would have to come out.
“How is he?” the father asked.
“Not as bad as he looks,” James said, “but the bullet has to come out.” He glanced at them over his shoulder. “Has either of you ever done it? Removed a bullet?”
“No,” the man said.
“Can you do it?” the girl asked. “Can you save him?”
“Isn’t there anyone else here?” he asked. “In the other buildings.”
“Nobody,” the man said. “You’ll have to do it.”
“Look,” James said, sticking to his lie, “I’ve only done it a couple of times—”
The man raised his rifle and pointed it at James again. From the look on his face, he meant business. The girl was another story. She didn’t like the situation, at all.
“So you’ll do it one more time,” he said. “But remember, if he dies, you die.”
“Pa!” the girl said. “That’s not fair.”
“It’s not fair that your brother got shot,” the father said. “That man came here because this man is chasin’ him. I blame them both.”
James thought the girl was right. That wasn’t fair, not at all.