Molly had regained her composure as she related what had happened. At an early hour, shortly after dawn, she heard a voice calling Dick. She didn't recognize the voice. She went through the lobby and peered from the window.
There were two men out there on horses. No one else was in sight. The town still slept.
She heard Dick answer from an upstairs window and then the flame and shot. The two horsemen wheeled and galloped away. Cherry was screaming that Dick had been shot.
"They were just dark shapes, Sam. I didn't recognize either of them."
He listened to her voice with a dull-wittedness in him. When she finished there was silence. He sat there, his hands slack on his knees, thinking of Dick as a little kid, as a boy, as a young man. His sense of loss deepened, knotting his guts and choking his throat.
Doc Sawyer appeared and scolded Sam for self-neglect. Sam sat woodenly as the doctor worked on him, reproaching him. Sam made no answer, remembering all the things that make up the life of two boys, two young men, close as blood ties can make them, growing up together, with Sam always the leader and Dick contesting him as he grew older. He was older than Dick, had taught him to ride and shoot and rope and swim. The old man, their father, had been too busy for anything but the ranch. Sam had helped Dick select his first saddle, given him his first gun, an old Remington cap-and-ball. He loaned him money when he began seeing the girls.
Sam felt an added ache in his chest as he thought of the questions Dick used to ask. Where do the geese go when they fly south? Why are coyotes wild, and can you tame them to be hunting dogs? How does a gun shoot?
The pain sharpened and he tried to put the memories away in self-defense.
"Sam, you'd done what I told you, maybe none of this would have happened."
"Oh, Doc, leave him alone!" cried Molly.
Doc Sawyer took his bag and went away, looking injured. Molly brought him coffee and a piece of pie. Some people — afterwards he didn't remember just who it was — came to McGee's rooms, stood before him momentarily, mumbled something and left.
He came out of his numbed lassitude. "Guess I'd better take care of my horse."
"Ora Ketterman took it to the barn," Molly said. "Oh, Sam, why don't you lie down on Fill's bed and get some rest?"
He looked at her and smiled. But the smile wasn't reflected in his dark eyes. He wondered why it was that women always insisted that a man eat or rest, no matter what happened. He shook his head and got to his feet. "No. I've got a few things to do. I want to see Cherry first."
"The doctor gave her something," Molly said. "I'll see if she's awake." She went out of the room and returned in
a
few moments. "She's awake but not very clear-headed, Sam. Why don't you go on up?"
He made his way up the stairs and it seemed like a long time had passed since he'd tapped on this door as he was doing now. He heard no reply; he turned the knob and pushed the door open.
The shades were drawn and the room was in semi-darkness. She sat sideways on a chair, looking at the wall.
"Cherry," he said.
She turned her head and looked at him. Then she came to her feet and ran to him, clutching at him, burying her face on his chest, shaking with sobs.
He awkwardly patted her shoulder, feeling the lump thicken in his throat, his chest feeling so full it pained him. "Kenton's back of this," he said. "I'll settle it for both of us."
"That . . . that . . . won't bring Dick back."
"No."
"Sam! You scare me! Why, you could g-g-get k-k-killed, tool"
He said, in a cold and measured voice, "That's the only way he'll stop me." He gently pushed her away from him. "Don't worry about anything, Cherry. You're my sister now. I'll take care of you."
She didn't seem to hear him. "Kenton, that evil man! What I could tell you about him. He—he was responsible for my brother being killed—and now my husband. He's capable of anything, Sam."
"I know all about it," Sam said. "Rest, Cherry and try not to grieve. I'll be back soon."
"Be careful," she whispered after him.
Molly seemed to be waiting for him. She asked in
a
worried voice, "What can you say to Kenton?"
"I can tell him that if he tries to stop Texas John Cooney he'll be wiped out."
"You'll warn him?" she asked incredulously.
He nodded. "And after that I have a few personal things
to
tell him."
The street was deserted of people when Sam walked steadily toward The Mint. Horses tied to the rail in front of the saloon humped their hindquarters into the wind. His boots pounded the wooden walk and he breasted the batwings and surged inside.
All talk stopped when he entered the room. He stood there for a moment, feeling the raw hate that ate at him. Behind the bar, Leo raised a hand, unsmiling, giving a significant glance down the bar where Kenton toyed with a glass. Clay Bassett, wearing the star, leaned against the mahogany beside Kenton.
Sam headed straight for the bar where Leo was pouring a drink from the special bottle. The murmur of voices resumed on a lower key.
"Sam," Leo said in a subdued voice. "Sorry about Dick." Then he leaned across the bar and murmured, "They're all set to go bear hunting, just getting warmed up."
"Who they after, Cooney or the farmers?"
"Both if you ask me. Jesse's playing for keeps. That was a fine thing you done, Sam, trying to save poor ol' Reno."
"Pour me another one, Leo. That was pretty good. You seen Marv Teller?"
Leo shook his head. "On a drunk, I think."
"They say he goes on a bender every time he kills a man."
"I've heard that, too. I don't know, Sam. Have another drink?"
"That's enough," Sam said and walked down the bar to where Jesse Kenton stood. He didn't wait for Kenton to finish what he was saying to Bassett. "I don't know why I'm telling you, Jesse," he said, "but you go after Cooney and you'll lose it."
The ready alertness on Kenton's high-colored face didn't change. "You're still alive, Sam," he said evenly. "Why don't you stay out of this?"
"I think I'm doing you a favor," Sam answered. "Cooney's all set for you, Jesse. You ride out there and just a few will come back."
"All right, you warned me. Now, get the hell out of here, Sam. If you—"
"You wait for me to finish," Sam said softly. "A lot has happened lately, like somebody bushwhacking me and trying again with a shotgun trap. Like Reno being hung and George Balfont missing. Now my brother Dick. You know what I think? I thimk Marv Teller knows a lot about all of it, Jesse. Just one question: did you put him up to it?"
"You're a pushy young puke," Jesse answered. "Why don't you dig a hole and crawl in it and pull it in after you?"
"I've lost a lot here lately and I think it all runs back to you."
"You're all talk, just like your old man—" He stopped talking and his hand flashed to his gun as anger overcame him.
Sam hit him, hard enough to glaze his eyes and cause him to drop the gun. He hit him again, a sound like a brittle board breaking, driving him into one of his cowhands. Kenton pushed himself free and ran forward, ramming his head into Sam's belly and trying to wrestle him to the floor.
The men around stood open-mouthed as Sam broke loose and rained a flurry of blows to Kenton's face and stomach, bloodying him, driving him across the room and into a card table that toppled. Reaching down, a deadly rage possessing him, he dragged Kenton to his feet and grabbed his coat collar. With his other hand in the slack of Kenton's pants he propelled him toward the door. He used Kenton as a battering ram to thrust open the doors and sent him plunging headlong into the street.
He went through the door with a loose-muscled walk and heard a woman scream. He turned toward the sound of terror as Marv Teller came out of the alley with his six-gun leveled. Sam drew his own gun and dropped to one knee as Teller fired. He steadied his pistol, drew back the hammer with his thumb and fired deliberately as Teller emptied his gun. Sam missed and his apparent deliberateness rattled Teller who turned and pounded toward the alley. Sam fired again as Teller wheeled and ran. It seemed to Sam that a giant hand thrust Teller forward and he plunged headlong into the alley entrance.