FORTY-ONE
The terrain was flat enough that Clint spotted Weaver and McBeth just as they saw him coming toward them in the distance. The two riders stopped and waited for the lone rider to reach them.
“About time you came back lookin’ for us,” McBeth said.
“Not my fault you’re both riding donkeys,” Clint said.
“Did you find them?”
“I guess you saw the bodies?” Clint asked.
“Yep,” Weaver said. “Back-shot. You figure Dolan and Santee didn’t want to split?”
“That’s what I figure.”
“Where do you think they’re headed?” Weaver asked.
“East to Louisiana,” Clint said.
“What’s north?” McBeth asked.
“Just a whole lotta Texas,” Weaver said.
“What’s in Louisiana?”
“Gumbo,” Clint said, “and women . . .”
“No women in Texas?” McBeth asked.
“Oh, a lot of them,” Clint said, “but no gumbo.”
“Dolan will want to go someplace he’s never been,” McBeth said, “so I’d say Louisiana.”
“One of them has a run-down heel on his left boot,” Clint said. “Dolan favor his left leg?”
“No,” McBeth said, “at least not when he left Ireland.”
“Okay, so maybe it’s Santee,” Clint said, “but it gives us some sign we can read.”
“So there’s only two of ’em now,” Weaver said.
“Looks like,” Clint said, “but my guess is Dolan’s being advised by Santee.”
“Which means?” McBeth asked.
“They’re probably going to pick up some more men along the way.”
“And work with them until there’s another big score they don’t want to split?” Weaver asked.
“Right. That Dolan’s style, McBeth?”
“Not normally,” McBeth said. “He kills women, not men.”
“So back-shooting the other two was probably Santee’s idea.”
“Dolan must be acquiring new habits,” McBeth said.
“Robbin’ banks and killin’ tellers instead of women?” Weaver asked.
“He’ll revert back, though,” Clint said. “A man can only change habits for so long, and then he gets the urge.” He looked at McBeth. “That what you figure?”
“That’s what I’m thinkin’,” McBeth said. “What are the women in Louisiana like?”
“Well-mannered,” Clint said, “delicate, beautiful . . .”
“Then he won’t be able to resist,” McBeth said.
“So we have to get to him before he can get to another woman,” Weaver said.
“That’s not likely,” Clint said. “They’re far enough ahead of us that they’ll hit Louisiana before us, if they haven’t already.”
“Where will they end up if they keep going east?” McBeth asked.
“Probably a town called Natchitoches.”
“Is that a big place?”
“There’s bigger.”
“Like what?”
“Well, if they head northeast and bypass Dallas they could end up in Shreveport.”
“What’s there?”
“Everything I already said,” Clint said, “plus every vice you could imagine.”
“Let’s go there,” McBeth said.
“Instead of followin’ them?” Weaver asked.
“If Dolan is guided by Santee,” McBeth said, “and he is asking the same questions I am, I believe they will go to the larger town.”
“Shreveport,” Clint said.
“Shreveport.”
“They’re three, maybe four days ahead of us,” Clint said.
“They might get to Natchitoches,” McBeth said, “and then go to Shreveport. We could close the gap.”
“We’d be taking a chance on losing them,” Clint said. “I mean, if they hit Natchitoches, they might go south to Alexandria, and then east to New Orleans.”
“And what is there?”
“More than they got in Shreveport,” Clint said.
“But it is farther.”
“Yes. In fact, if you’re right—if they go to Natchitoches and then decide to go to Shreveport, they actually have to head north and back west a bit.”
“Which means?” Weaver asked.
“Which means we could beat them to Shreveport,” Clint said, “if that’s where they decide to go.”
“All right, then,” McBeth said, “Shreveport it is.”
“Okay,” Clint said. “It’s your call.”
“Just one thing,” McBeth said.
“What’s that?” Clint asked.
The Irishman looked at him and said, “What is gumbo?”