“Revenge, huh?”
“Yeah, revenge. Leastwise, that’s what he says.”
“Revenge. Damn, I tell you the truth then. I don’t think I’d want to be one of the people he’s after then. When it is the law that’s after you, you can figure that most likely what will happen to you is you’ll get a trial and maybe go to jail. Even if you get hung, it’ll take a while for them to appeal and all that. But when someone is after revenge, then they don’t stop until they find you. And most likely when they find you, the only thing on their mind is killin’ you. If you ask me, Odom is makin’ a big mistake by runnin’.”
“What do you mean, he’s makin’ a big mistake? Didn’t you just say that the only thing a man out for revenge wants to do is kill you?”
“Yes, and the only way you are going to stop him is to kill him first.”
“Damn. Remind me never to piss someone off so much that he wants revenge.”
A few others laughed nervously.
“How does this fella—Cavanaugh is it? How does he know who he is lookin’ for?”
“Turns out he was on the train that was robbed and he saw the outlaws. Not only that, he even knows every one of them by name. According to him, Bates was one of the train robbers, Cletus Odom was another, along with a fella named Schuler. He also says there was a Mexican by the name of Paco.”
“Paco?” another said, and he laughed. “The fourth train robber was a Mexican by the name of Paco? Well, that should narrow it down to about a thousand Mexicans.”
The others laughed as well.
Paco remounted, then rode back out of town. He had planned to meet Odom and Bates here, but with Bates dead and Odom running, there was no reason for him to remain. Paco’s first thought was to just keep riding, but he stopped and thought about what the man back in town had said about revenge. They never give up until they find the ones they are looking for. And in this case, Cavanaugh knew them by name.
Paco had no choice. He had to kill Cavanaugh before Cavanaugh killed him. He dismounted, found a spot of shade, and waited for nightfall.
Matt had no idea what awakened him. It may have been a type of kinesthetic reflex born from years of living on the edge. He rolled off the bed just as a gun boomed in the doorway of his room. The bullet slammed into the headboard of the bed where, but a second earlier, Matt had been sleeping.
At the same time Matt rolled off the bed, he grabbed the pistol from under his pillow. Now the advantage was his. The man who had attempted to kill him was temporarily blinded by the muzzle flash of his own shot, and he could see nothing in the darkness of Matt’s room. That same muzzle flash, however, had illuminated the assailant for Matt, and he quickly aimed his pistol at the dark hulk in the doorway, closed his eyes against his own muzzle flash, and squeezed the trigger. The gun bucked in his hand as the roar filled the room. Matt heard a groaning sound, then the heavy thump of a falling body.
“What is it? What’s happening?” a voice called. All up and down the hallway of the hotel, doors opened as patrons, dressed in nightgowns and pajamas, peered out of their rooms in curiosity. Slipping on his trousers, but naked from the waist up, Matt stepped out into the hallway, then looked down at the the man he had just killed. The body was illuminated by the soft glow of a wall-mounted kerosene lantern. It was the same Mexican he had seen on the train during the robbery.
“You again?” someone said. “You’ve already killed one man in this town. How many are you plannin’ on killin’?”
Matt glared at the questioner, but he didn’t answer him.
“Who is this man?” another asked, pointing to the body on the floor. “He’s not a guest of the hotel, is he?”
“You think any Mexicans would stay here?”
“Has anyone ever seen him before?”
“His name is Paco,” Matt said.
“Why did you kill him?”
“Because he was trying to kill me,” Matt answered. “And that seemed like the practical thing to do.”
“Why was he trying to kill you?”
“Because he knew I was going to kill him, if I found him,” Matt said easily.
“Mister, that don’t make any sense a’tall.”
“It does to me.”
“What are you going to do about him now?” one of the others asked.
“Nothing,” Matt said. “I don’t need to do anything about him now. He’s dead.”
“Well, good Lord, man, you don’t plan to just leave him layin’ out here in the hall, do you?”
“If you want him out of here, take him out of here,” Matt said.
“The hell you say. I didn’t kill him.”
“He’s got a point there, mister,” one of the others said. “You killed him. The least you can do is get rid of him.”
“All right,” Matt said. Leaning down, he picked Paco up and threw his body over his shoulder.
“Now you are being sensible,” the complainer said.
Without another word, Matt walked to the rear end of the hall where he raised the window that opened out onto the alley.
“Hey! What are you…?”
That was as far as the questioning hotel patron got, because without any further hesitation, Matt pushed Paco’s body through the window. It fell with a crash to the alley below. That done, he lowered the window, then, brushing his hands as if having just completed an onerous task, returned to his own room.
“That should take care of it,” Matt said. “Sleep well, everyone.”
Chapter Twenty
Matt was eating breakfast at the Choulic Café when a woman came in. Looking around for a moment, she saw Matt and came directly to his table.
“Mr. Cavanaugh?”
This was the same soiled dove that had been in bed with Bates when Matt and Bates had had their encounter. By now, Matt had been in town long enough, and had spent enough time in the saloon, to know her by name.
Matt stood up. “Hello, Jennie,” he said.
“Oh, my,” Jennie said, flustered by that gentlemanly act. “You don’t have to stand for me.”
“You are a woman,” Matt replied. “I treat all women with courtesy.”
“Oh, I, uh—I appreciate it,” Jennie said.
“Have you had your breakfast?”
“I’m not much of a breakfast person,” Jennie replied.
“You could join me for coffee, couldn’t you?”
“I don’t know,” Jennie said, looking around. “Mr. Appleby doesn’t like for people like me—uh, you know, women who are on the line—to come in here.”
“Nonsense, you are my guest,” Matt said. He held a chair out for Jennie, then moved around the table to retake his own seat. He was fully aware of some of the glances he was receiving from many of the other diners, but he paid no attention to them.
“What brings you to my table, Jennie?” Matt asked. “Although I’m enjoying the company, I have the feeling that you didn’t stop by just to be sociable.”
“I hear that you are looking for Moses Schuler,” Jennie said.
“Yes,” Matt said. “Do you know him? You must know him if you know his full name. I don’t believe I’ve mentioned his first name since I arrived in Choulic.”
“Yes, I know him,” Jennie said. “I know him very well.” She paused for a moment. “Moses killed my husband,” she added.
“Your husband?”
Jennie nodded, and Matt saw that her eyes had welled with tears.
“Yes, Mr. Cavanaugh, my husband,” Jennie said. “I wasn’t born a whore.”
“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to imply that you were.”
“I know, I know. I guess, when I think about it, I’m just a little sensitive,” Jennie said. “Carl and I had been married for a little over a year. His parents didn’t approve of the marriage. After all, Carl was an educated man, a mining engineer, and he met me when I was working as a maid for his family. But Carl didn’t care what they thought—he loved me and I loved him, so we were married, and we left Louisville to come out West. Carl had taken a position with the Cross Point Mine.”