Rochenbach stepped down from his saddle and stood over the downed outlaw. The Stillwater Giant took the reins to the three horses and tied them to a hitch rail. Rock caught a glimpse of the bullet hole in Karr’s chest before Karr closed the bandanna down over it.
“He was shot by his own man, from behind,” Casings said up to Rochenbach.
Rochenbach shook his head and looked all around the clearing. Ten yards away lay Parnell Hobbs, flat on his back, dead, his face missing, in its place an open bloody hull.
“That one shot himself somehow,” said Pres. He turned back to Karr and gave him another drink from the whiskey bottle.
Karr swallowed the fiery rye and let out a whiskey hiss.
“He was running with a cocked shotgun… stumbled and blew his damned head off…,” he wheezed. “The poor bastard.…”
Rock let out a breath and looked at the third man lying a few yards away beneath a big pine tree.
“That one came running out of the shack shouting, shooting wild in every direction,” said Casings. “He’s the one who shot this one.” He gestured a nod at Karr.
“You had to shoot him,” Rock said.
“No, we didn’t shoot him,” said Casings. “He ran smack into that tree. Hasn’t moved an inch since. Giant unarmed him and left him lying there for the time being.”
“I take it that’s Blind Simon Goss?” said Rochenbach, staring out at the downed man who looked to be peacefully sleeping.
“How’d… you guess?” said Karr in a weak but sarcastic voice.
“Want me to go tote him over here?” the Giant asked, holding the canteen out in his huge hand for Rochenbach to take.
“Yes, bring him on over,” said Rock. Taking the canteen, he said, “Obliged,” and sipped while the Giant trotted away to where Blind Simon lay knocked out cold.
“I… know you,” Latner Karr said, squinting up at Rochenbach. He raised a weak bloody finger toward him.
“Do you, now?” Rock said flatly.
“You’re that… detective who turned outlaw.”
“That’s me all right,” Rochenbach said, knowing the old man wasn’t going to be talking much longer.
“Some say… that’s a lie,” said Karr. “Some say you’re… still a lawman… working among us ol’ boys. Doing all… the damage you can.”
“Do they, now?” said Rock, sounding disinterested. He noted the questioning look Casings gave him.
“If you are… you should rot in hell,” Karr said, sounding weaker as he spoke. “Admit it.…”
Rochenbach and Casings looked at each other, then back to the dying outlaw.
“Go on… admit it,” Karr persisted, coughing, wheezing.
“Yeah, you’re right,” said Rochenbach. “Looks like you’ve found me out, old-timer.”
“I knew it,” said Karr. He settled back and closed his eyes.
After a moment, Casings stood up, holding the whiskey bottle in his hand.
“He’s gone,” he said. He looked at Rochenbach and said, “He was talking out of his head, what he said about you.”
“I saw no point in arguing with him,” said Rock. “He’s probably not the first man to ever suggest I’m still a lawman.”
“If you were, you sure fooled the hell out of all of us,” Casings said, seeing the Stillwater Giant walking up, carry the knocked-out blind man effortlessly in his arms.
Dismissing the matter, Rochenbach said, “We’ve got a problem.”
“What’s that?” Casings asked.
“I checked the bags,” said Rochenbach. “There’s nowhere near ten thousand dollars in them.”
“There was that much,” Casings said. “We both saw it. They didn’t spend nothing for the whiskey and cigars.”
“I know,” said Rochenbach. He turned to his dun, pulled the saddlebags from across his saddle and pitched them to the Casings. “But it’s gone. See for yourself.”
Casings caught the saddlebags, opened them and looked inside, shaking three stacks of money around.
“Jesus, you’re right,” he said. He reached down into the bags and pulled up a handful of loose dirt and gravel. He let the dirt pour from his hand. “Whoever was carrying the bags was out to skin the others out of their share.”
“That’s how I figured it,” said Rock. “But who did it? Was it Dirty Dave Atlo skinning Macon Ray and the others, or Ray doing the skinning after he got his hands on the money?”
“Looks like we’ll never know,” said Casings. He pulled up the three stacks of money, looked at them in disgust, then dropped them back in the bag. “We’re down to three thousand, more or less. Grolin will throw a fit.”
“How will he know it was ten or three?” Rochenbach asked, leading him toward something.
“Spiller, Shaner and Penta will all three say it was ten thousand when they get back,” said Casings.
“I see what you mean,” said Rochenbach, and he let it sit for a moment as the Giant walked up and settled the half-conscious Blind Simon in the chair on the porch.
“Maybe we just tell Grolin what happened: We followed Macon Ray here, but the money was gone.”
“Take a thousand each and keep our mouths shut about it?” asked Rochenbach.
The Stillwater Giant stepped back off the porch and looked at them curiously.
“We’re just talking about this money, Giant,” said Casings. “Ray Silverette has shorted it down to three thousand dollars. We’re saying split it three ways, to keep from having to explain things that wasn’t our fault. What do you say?”
“I’m with you, Rock,” said the Giant. “What do you say we do?”
“I’m with Pres,” said Rochenbach.
“And I say we keep it,” Casings cut in. “Besides, if Grolin hadn’t cheated Dirty Dave out of his money last year, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“I get a thousand dollars, here and now?” asked the Giant.
“Yep, here and now,” said Casings.
A broad grin came across the Giant’s face.
“Give it to me, fellows,” he said with no further hesitation.
“Rock, check your arm,” said Casings, seeing the blood on Rochenbach’s sleeve for the first time.
“I’ve got it,” said Rock, loosening a bandanna from around his neck to shove down his coat sleeve onto his upper arm. “I took a graze a while ago,” he said.
“Welcome to the fold,” Casings said wryly. “Now you’ve shed your blood for Andrew Grolin, like the rest of us.”
“That’s right,” said Rock. “Now I want to ride back to the Lucky Nut, see how much he appreciates it.”
By the time Blind Simon Goss awoke, the Giant and Pres Casings had dropped the bodies of the three outlaws into an iron ore bucket tied off atop a steep set of rails that ran deep down into the hillside. The other two bodies they’d sent speeding down the rails in a flat cart that sat in front of the ore bucket.
“Adios, sons a’ bitches,” said the Giant, releasing the bucket’s hand brake. Casings reached out with a knife and cut the short safety rope.
“It’s better than any of you deserve,” Casings said to the rumbling iron bucket. He dusted his hands together.
The two watched the big ore bucket roll down the rails until it disappeared into the blackness. The rumble of the bucket on the rails still resounded as the two turned and walked away.
At the porch of the shack, they stood back watching Rochenbach press a wet cloth to Blind Simon’s swollen face. Simon raised a hand and held the cloth in place.
“You upwinded me, didn’t you?” Simon said to Rochenbach, who stooped beside the chair where the Giant had seated him.
“Yes, I did,” said Rochenbach.
“What made you think to do that?” Simon asked.