“You’re making fun of me.”
“Are you so sure you’re going to kill him?”
“He killed my brother.”
“All that means is that we know he can kill. The question is, can you?”
After a moment of silence, Rebecca said, “I really don’t know.”
“At least you’re honest.”
“But I’ve come all this way…. ”
She explained to Decker that her strategy was simply to travel in a straight line in the same direction that “her” Brian Foxx had taken. He didn’t comment on the fact that an amateur had come up with the same strategy as he’d used—and he was a professional.
It was too embarrassing.
It was midday when they rode into Fenner’s Fork, and it didn’t look any better than Eaton’s Fork had, except for one thing—one of the buildings had smoke coming from the chimney.
“Well, at least somebody’s here,” Decker said.
“Let’s take a look,” Rebecca said.
“Hmph,” Felicia said, but nobody heard her.
They rode over to the building and found that it was the saloon.
“More and more encouraging,” Decker said.
They dismounted and Decker told Felicia to stay outside and hold the horses.
He looked at Rebecca and asked, “Can you do anything with that gun besides point it?”
“If I have to.”
“That’s a distinct possibility. You might want to wait out here with Felicia.”
“I’m going inside with you, Mr. Decker.”
Decker grimaced and said, “Just Decker.”
Decker approached the batwing doors, drawing his weapon. He passed through the doors quickly and stepped to his right, swinging the sawed-off back and forth to cover the room. He was pleased to see that Rebecca came in right on his heels and moved to her left, gun drawn.
“Hey!” the bartender said, putting his hands up. “If you ain’t got the money, it’s on the house.”
Decker’s eyes took in the whole room and it was empty.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Sam.”
“Anybody else here, Sam?”
“Here in the saloon, or here in town?”
“Answer both.”
“Nobody else here, but there’s a few people in the town. Couple of girls over in the hotel, if you’re interested.” Sam looked past Decker at Rebecca and added, “Although I don’t see why you would be.”
“Has there been anyone else here in the past couple of weeks?”
“Well, let’s see—”
Decker had an instinct he trusted. It told him when somebody was going to lie to him, and it was talking to him now. He let go one barrel of the sawed-off and took out most of the liquor bottles on the man’s right. The bartender ducked, but couldn’t avoid the shower of whiskey and glass that fell on him like baptismal water.
“Hey!” he shouted.
“Mister, I don’t care how much they paid you,”
Decker said, “you can’t take it with you when you die—which should do in about five seconds. Now, I’ll ask you again…”
“What happened?” Felicia asked when they came back outside.
“The Foxxes were here,” Decker said, looking unhappy.
“The Foxxes?”
“That’s right, the Foxxes,” he said. “There’s two of them, Brian and Brent.”
“And they’re twins?”
“Identical.” He still looked unhappy.
“I told you so,” Felicia said—and that was why Decker looked unhappy.
He knew she would say that.
They mounted up and headed out of town quickly.
“How long ago did they leave?” Felicia asked.
“This morning,” Rebecca said. “All this riding and I miss him by a matter of hours.”
“Look on the bright side,” Decker said.
“Which is?”
“At least now we’ve got a live trail to follow.”
PART THREE
FOXX TRAIL
Chapter XXI
Brent Foxx insisted that he felt his horse going lame and he wanted to stop in Bell’s Crossing.
“We’ve only gone about forty miles, Brent. We’ve still got some daylight left.”
“Just let me get the horse checked, Brian. We don’t want it going lame out in the middle of nowhere.”
“Let me take a look at it.”
“When did you become an expert in horseflesh?”
“It’s not wise for both of us to go into town together.”
“Fine, let me go in and you wait here. I’ll be back real quick.”
Brian frowned, but then finally agreed.
“Be back in an hour, Brent, even if you have to buy a new horse.”
“I’ll be back, brother,” Brent said. “Count on it.”
Brent Foxx rode into Bell’s Crossing, but instead of heading for the livery stable he headed for the bank.
He hadn’t looked this bank over for that long— after all, he’d simply passed through the town recently on the way Tomeet his brother—but he was sure that it would be easy. He’d hold it up and meet Brian within an hour, just like he’d agreed.
He left his horse in front of the bank and went up onto the boardwalk to the front door. It was getting late and he could see through the window that the bank wasn’t busy. The town was a small one, and as he checked the street, he saw that it was sparsely populated.
Perfect.
He entered the bank and stood behind the elderly woman who was standing at the only teller’s cage. He waited a few moments, but she was taking so long with her transaction that he finally ran out of patience.
“Excuse me, lady,” he said, pushing her aside.
“Young man!” she objected, but the force of his push staggered her and she stumbled, trying to keep her balance.
He pointed his gun at the teller and said, “Let me have the money, friend, and make it quick. I got an appointment.”
The teller, a young man, froze with fear.
“Come on, jasper, I ain’t got all day.”
When Brent poked the gun through the bars, the barrel almost touched the young man’s nose. The teller pulled a bank sack over and began filling it with money.
“Where’s the manager?” Brent asked.
“H-He’s in the o-o-office.”
“Good,” Brent said, just as the office door opened and the manager stepped out.
“What the hell—” he said, staring. He was a barrel-chested man with a full mustache that hid his mouth.
“We’re being robbed, Mr. Levi,” the teller said, still filling the sack.
“Look here, fella—” the manager began, but the teller stopped him.
“Mr. Levi, don’t you recognize this fella?”
“I do not.”
“He’s Brian Foxx.” The teller looked at Brent and pushed the sack under the cage. “You are Brian Foxx, aren’t you?”
“That I am, sonny,” Brent said, accepting the sack. “Now don’t anybody make a move until I’m to hell and gone, hear? I’d hate to have to shoot somebody. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” the teller said.
The manager harumphed his disapproval but remained silent.
Brent backed his way to the door, then averted his eyes in order to open it.
At that point the elderly woman, who had since righted herself, reached into her cloth bag and pulled out a small derringer.
“Mrs. Maxwell!” the teller shouted.
Brent turned in time to see her point the gun at him and pull the trigger, a look of pure glee on her face.
Gonna get me a bank robber, she was thinking.
It was her last thought in life.