That had shut them up for the most part, although there had been some grumbling still going on as they left. Nobody was locked up back in the cell block now except Mitch Rainey, and Burley was glad of that. He despised the outlaw, and believed there was a better than even chance Rainey had had something to do with Emmaline Thorp’s disappearance and Matt Hardcastle’s murder. But Burley had to admit Rainey hadn’t caused any trouble during the more than twenty-four hours he had been locked up here.
Burley took off his hat and tossed it on the desk. He closed his eyes and scrubbed a hand over his face, then gave a little shake of his head. He reached for the desk drawer where he kept a small silver flask. One nip and he’d be ready to head for his cot.
That was when the prisoner started screaming bloody murder.
Actually the cries were just incoherent screeches, Burley realized as he leaped to his feet and ran toward the cellblock door. As he fumbled the key into the lock and turned it, he heard Rainey begin to say frantically, “Get it away from me, get it away from me!”
Could be Rainey was just having a fit, Burley thought, but he had to be certain. He pulled his gun from its holster as he swung the door open and ran into the cell block.
Rainey was squirming around on the bunk, kicking his feet and slapping his hands at empty air. “Get it away, get it away!” he screamed again.
“What is it?” yelled Burley. “I don’t see anything!”
“At the window!” Rainey shrieked. “At the window! It’s in the alley! God, don’t let it get me!”
Burley thought Rainey was imagining things, but then he heard a rustling noise and a growl coming from outside the small, barred window in the cell. The marshal’s breath caught in his throat. The way Rainey was acting, the Brazos Devil could be right outside the jail!
Burley’s heart began pounding wildly in his chest. He wasn’t sure why the Brazos Devil would risk coming all the way into town like this, but if he could capture or kill the beast, he could collect that twenty-thousand-dollar bounty from Benjamin Thorp. Not only that, it would improve his shaky standing with the town’s most influential citizen. Those thoughts flashed through Burley’s head in an instant, and the next second he was unlocking the door of the cell. He rushed across to the window, ready to stick his gun out through the bars and start blasting.
He lifted himself on his toes, straining to peer through the opening. Unable to quite see out, Burley grabbed the slops bucket from underneath the bunk and overturned it, heedless of the foul mess that it made on the floor. Rainey was still cowering on the bunk, eyes wide with terror as he made feeble pushing motions with his hands. Burley placed the overturned bucket under the window and stepped up on it, balancing himself as he looked out.
There wasn’t much light in the alley alongside the jail, but enough illumination filtered into it from the moon and stars that Burley would be able to see anything as big as the Brazos Devil. He twisted his neck from side to side, searching anxiously for any sign of the creature. He heard the growling sound again, and it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Then, right underneath the window, a dog barked.
“Hey!” Burley exclaimed. “There’s nothing out here but an old mutt-“
He was turning as he spoke, directing the angry words at Rainey. Before he could finish the sentence, however, Rainey’s shoulder slammed into his midsection, smashing him back against the wall. Burley grunted in pain and tried to bring his gun around, the bitter realization that he had been tricked flooding through him. Rainey grabbed his wrist before Burley could bring the weapon into play, and used his other hand to hook a vicious punch into Burley’s midsection. Burley felt himself falling off the overturned bucket.
Rainey caught the marshal around the throat and drove his head against the wall again. Burley went limp, the gun slipping from his fingers. Blackness closed in around him, and his last thought before he passed out was a curse at what a fool he had been.
Chapter 9
The spot Catamount Jack and Lucy had picked for their campsite was a clearing in a grove of cottonwoods northwest of town. A small spring-fed creek ran through the trees, and Longarm supposed that was where the settlement had gotten its name. He had to admit the clearing was a pretty place to camp. An evening breeze, cool but not cold, was blowing through the partially bare branches of the cottonwoods, making a lulling sound. The grass on the ground was still thick from the previous summer. Catamount Jack and Lucy unsaddled their riding mules and unloaded the pack animals while Longarm got a small fire going. When the mules had been staked out for the night, the three people settled down beside the flickering flames and began passing around the bottle of rye. Then Longarm was finally able to satisfy his curiosity.
“How in blazes did you find out about the Brazos Devil and the bounty Thorp put on it?” he asked. “I thought you said the two of you had been up in Montana all summer.”
“We were,” Catamount Jack replied. “But ever’ fall we come down here and pay a visit to my sister over in Austin. She’s a widow lady, you know, and don’t have no family but us.”
“And you saw the notice Thorp put in the Austin paper,” Longarm guessed.
“Actually, I did,” Lucy said. “Pa ain’t much of a hand for readin’, but he made sure I knew how. I can even cipher a mite.”
Catamount Jack lifted the bottle to his lips and took a long swig. Then, after wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he handed the rye to Longarm and said, “When I was naught but a boy, back in the last days of the Shinin’ Times, I knew men who couldn’t read a word—but they could recite whole chunks of the Bible and practic’ly ever’ word that Shakespeare fella ever wrote. When those old boys went to spoutin’ passages, though, I always wondered … how did I know they was gettin’ it right? I swore then that if I ever had any young’uns, I’d see to it that they could read the words for theirselves, rather than havin’ to listen to somebody else recite ‘em.” He smiled fondly at the young woman. “Well, Lucy’s the onliest child I was ever blessed with, seem’ as how her mama died when Lucy was just a bitty little babe, but I always done the best by her I knew how. She can read an’ do her numbers, like she said, and she can run all day like an Apache, shoot better’n nine out o’ ten men, drink most fellas under the table, and rassle an alligator single-handed. Yes, sir, I’m mighty proud of her.”
“Hush, Pa,” Lucy said, and Longarm thought she was actually blushing—or maybe it was just the firelight that made her look that way. “You’re borin’ poor Custis to death.”
“No, that’s fine,” Longarm said. He took a little nip from the bottle. “A father’s got a right to be proud of his daughter.” He grinned and handed the bottle back to Catamount Jack.
The level of rye in the bottle dropped considerably before the big man lowered it again. “You know much about this here Brazos Devil, Custis?” he asked.
The grin disappeared from Longarm’s face as he said, “Enough to be a mite worried about being out here after dark.”
Catamount Jack gave a braying bark of laughter. “A big fella like you, a lawman and all, and you’re scared of some critter skulkin’ around in the dark?”
“According to what I’ve been told, the Brazos Devil is suspected of killing four men. Ripping them apart with its bare hands or paws or whatever, in fact. But the real reason Thorp offered that bounty is because he thinks the thing might have carried off his wife.”
“Why in the world would a critter do that?” Lucy asked. “You figure the Brazos Devil wanted to lay with the woman?”
Longarm wasn’t surprised by the blunt nature of Lucy’s question. He was convinced she was probably pretty well versed in the ways of the world. Likely she hadn’t been shielded from much while she was growing up. Nobody would ever mistake Lucy Vermilion for a hothouse flower.