“What do you want me to blow?”
“A safe.”
“Where is the safe?”
“In a train.”
“A train. You are planning to hold up a train?” Schuler asked.
“Yeah. You have a problem with that?”
Without asking, Schuler poured himself another drink, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“No,” he said. “I don’t have a problem with that.”
“When do we do it?” Bates asked.
“Couple more days,” Odom replied. “I’ll let you know when it’s time.”
Chapter Four
When Matt Jensen first encountered the town of Purgatory, Arizona, it rose from the prairie in front of him so indistinct in form and substance that it resembled nothing more than a rise of hillocks and rocks. But as he drew closer, the hillocks and rocks began to take on shape and character until it was obviously a town.
It had been a long ride since the last water hole, and Matt’s canteen was down to less than a third full. But the sight of a town gave promise of more water, so he stopped, and allowed himself a long drink.
“I wish I had some for you, Spirit,” he said, patting the animal on the neck. “But there’s water just ahead, and I promise you your fill, as well as a good rubdown and a supper of oats.”
Matt hooked the empty canteen onto his saddle, then slapped his legs against Spirit’s side to urge him on down into the town. A rabbit jumped up alongside the road and ran in front of him for a little while before darting off to one side. A hand-painted sign greeted him at the edge of town. PURGATORY
Pop. 263
OBEY OUR LAWS
Just beyond the sign was a house, and in the yard of the house was a water pump. An old woman was pumping water into a bucket, though it was obvious that the pumping action was difficult for her. Smelling the water, Spirit whickered again, and tossed his head. Matt headed toward the pump.
“Good afternoon, ma’am,” Matt said. He swung down from the horse. “May I pump for you?”
The woman, who could have been anywhere between fifty and eighty, looked at him with eyes that were too tired to be frightened. Without saying a word, she relinquished the pump handle.
Matt filled the bucket, then handed it to the woman. “I wonder if I might have a little of your water for my canteen and my horse,” Matt asked.
“You are welcome to the water,” the old woman answered.
“Thank you,” Matt said. He took his hat off, put it under the pump, and filled it with water. Holding the hat in front of his horse, he watched as the animal drank thirstily. It took three more hats to slake the horse’s thirst. Not until then did Matt fill his own canteen.
“You are a kind man, sir, to see to the thirst of your horse before yourself,” the old woman said.
“I’ve managed to drink a little from time to time,” Matt said. “He hasn’t. His thirst was much greater than mine.”
Matt put the canteen back onto his saddle, then handed the woman two dollars.
The woman took the money without comment. Never once, during Matt’s entire time here, had the expression on her face changed. The old woman looked as if just staying alive had become a tiring effort.
Matt rode on into town, looking it over as he entered. The town consisted of the usual stores and businesses: a general store, an apothecary, a leather-goods store, a gun shop, a dress shop. All the buildings were of ripsawed, sun-dried lumber, most with false fronts, thus aspiring to more substance than they actually possessed.
Matt rode slowly on up the street, the fall of Spirit’s well-shod hooves making enough noise to generate an echo that rolled back from the false fronts of the various stores and establishments. Except for Matt, the street was empty. Several of the townspeople inside the buildings heard the sound of a solitary rider, but few ventured to look outside and see who it might be.
Matt stopped in front of the Pair O Dice saloon, the name illustrated by a pair of dice showing the number seven.
Millie’s Dress Emporium was directly across the street from the Pair O Dice, and Mrs. Emma Dawkins was there being fitted for a new dress. Her son, Timmy, was sitting on the floor by the front window.
“Mama, there’s a man riding into town,” Timmy said. “A stranger.”
“Don’t stare at him, dear,” Mrs. Dawkins said. “Strangers are none of our concern.” Then, to Millie, Emma continued with her ongoing conversation. “My sister is getting married back in St. Louis and I simply must look my best.”
“My dear, you will be the envy of everyone at the wedding,” Millie promised as she pinned up the hem of the skirt.
Young Timmy Dawkins continued to stare at the rider who had just come into town, and saw him dismount in front of the saloon. He had never seen the man before, and wondered where he came from and why he was in Purgatory.
“He’s going into the saloon,” Timmy said.
“Who is going into the saloon, dear?” Emma asked.
“The stranger.”
“I told you not to stare at strangers.”
Matt hung his wet hat on the saddle horn so that the sun would dry it. He then patted himself down, raising a cloud of dust as he did so. Just as he started toward the front porch and the promise of a late morning breakfast, a man stepped out of the saloon. He was a tall man, dressed in black. He had a star on his chest, and he wore his pistol hanging low to his right side.
“That’ll be five dollars,” the lawman said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Five dollars,” the lawman repeated.
“I don’t understand. Five dollars for what?”
“For a visitors tax,” the lawman explained. “We charge everyone who visits our town five dollars.”
“Oh, well, I can take care of that,” Matt said. He turned to go back to his horse. “I just won’t visit your town.”
“You already have.”
“Mister, I just rode into town,” Matt said. “I didn’t know anything about your five-dollar tax.”
“You don’t have five dollars? Maybe I should lock you up for vagrancy.”
“It’s not the money, it’s the principle of the thing,” Matt said. “Whoever heard of a town charging five dollars just to visit? Why, if you were going to do such a thing, the least you could do is post a sign just outside of town so people could be warned.”
“Tell that to the city council. But first, give me the five dollars.”
“I told you, I’m not going to visit your town. I’ll just ride on.”
“And I told you, you’ve already visited the town. Now you’ll either give me the five dollars, or I’ll shoot you down in the street and take it off your dead body.”
“What?” Matt said, his voice rising in surprise over the lawman’s statement.
“You heard me.”
“Mister, you need to let this drop. I told you, I’m going to—”
Suddenly, Matt saw the lawman’s hand going for his pistol.
“No!” Matt shouted, going for his own pistol at the same time.
Matt was fast, very fast. He not only had his gun out, but he fired it, just as the lawman was clearing leather.
The bullet hit the lawman in the chest and, with a surprised expression on his face, the lawman dropped his gun, then slapped his hand over the wound. Ironically, when he dropped his gun, it slipped back into his holster. He turned around and walked back into the saloon through the batwing doors.
“What was it, Moe?” Marshal Cummins asked. “What was that shot about?”
Moe looked at Cummins with a peculiar expression on his face, then fell to the floor. At that moment, Matt stepped inside as well, still holding the smoking gun.
“Moe!” someone shouted.
“My God! He’s dead!”
“Drop that gun, mister!”
Looking up, Matt saw a man, wearing a star, pointing a pistol at him. One man pointing a pistol might not have been so bad, but there were four other pistols being pointed toward him, as well as a double-barrel shotgun, all being wielded by men who were wearing stars.