“Mr. Manning, Jefferson Tyree is an escaped convict. He has killed dozens of people, including an entire family,” Falcon said. “He killed more than half of them by shooting them in the back. If he says he saw your son shot, then it’s better than even odds that Tyree is the one who shot him.”
“MacCallister is right, Manning,” the bartender said. “Jefferson Tyree is a murderer.”
Manning stared at Falcon, but said nothing.
“You have a cartridge in that piece?” Falcon asked.
Manning nodded.
“Take it out.”
Slowly and deliberately, Manning rolled open the block and removed the cartridge.
“Have you had your dinner?” Falcon asked.
“What?”
“Dinner,” Falcon repeated. “Have you had your dinner tonight?”
“Uh, no. I had me some deer jerky while I was ridin’ down here,” Manning replied.
“Deer jerky’s not much of a dinner.”
“It’s all I had.”
“How about having dinner with me? I’ll buy.”
“Mister, what kind of man are you?” Manning asked. “I come here to kill you. You could’a kilt me, but instead, you’re askin’ me to have dinner with you.”
“I want you to get to know me,” Falcon said. “I want you to know, beyond a shadow of doubt, that I didn’t have anything to do with killing your boy. I don’t want to be looking over my shoulder to see if you are trailing me somewhere.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Manning said. “You could’a kilt me fair and square, and you would’a been in the right, but you didn’t do it. I don’t reckon whoever back-shot my boy would be doin’ that.”
“Then you will have dinner with me?”
Manning smiled for the first time since coming into the saloon. “You reckon I could get me a piece of apple pie with that dinner?”
Falcon returned the smile. “I know a place that serves the best apple pie in Colorado,” he said. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
“Well, I thank you,” Manning said. “I thank you right kindly.”
The saloon remained quiet as a tomb until Falcon and Manning were gone. Then one of the cowboys said aloud what most of the others were only thinking.
“Damn! In all my borned days, I ain’t never seen nothin’ like that, no way, no how.” Dozens of loud and excited conversations broke out throughout the saloon then, while at the back of the saloon the piano player resumed his music.
“Why is it, you reckon, that Tyree wanted me to think you was the one that kilt my boy?” Manning asked as he forked a piece of apple pie into his mouth.
“Tyree wants me dead,” Falcon said. “And if he can get someone else to kill me, all the better for him. And if that person gets himself killed trying to kill me, well, that’s no loss to Tyree. I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t pick a fight with your son just to set this up.”
“It takes one evil son of a bitch to do somethin’ like that,” Manning said.
“You just described Jefferson Tyree.”
“You know, I should’a known better than to think you was the one who shot my boy,” Manning said as he forked a piece of apple pie into his mouth. “I’ve heard tell of you, and I ain’t never heard nothin’ bad about you before. I reckon I was just so heartbroke over losin’ my boy that I wasn’t thinkin’ straight. I hope you don’t hold that a’gin me.”
“I understand,” Falcon said. He chuckled. “By the way, Mr. Manning, if you ever decide to actually use that rifle on someone, may I give you a little advice?”
“A man’s a fool that ain’t willin’ to listen to a little advice,” Manning replied.
“Make sure you have the hammer pulled back,” Falcon said.
Manning laughed as well. “I’ll be damned,” he said. “Yes, sir, I’ll remember that.”
“And, don’t go after Tyree. Believe me, he has made enough enemies in his life. Someone is going to take care of him for you. That is, unless you’re just burning to do it yourself.”
“I ain’t necessarily burnin’ to do it myself,” Manning answered. “I don’t care who kills him. As far as I’m concerned, dead is dead.”
Higbee, Colorado
Marshal Titus Calhoun was sitting at the desk in his office, going through wanted posters, when his brothers Travis and Troy came in.
“Titus, we got us a problem down at Maggie’s place,” Travis said.
Titus didn’t look up from his posters. “I told Maggie that if some cowboy doesn’t pay for his whore, that’s her problem, not mine. I can’t be wastin’ the city’s time or money collecting for her.”
“This ain’t nothin’ like that, Titus,” Troy said. “It’s the Clintons. The Clintons and a couple of their cowboys.”
“I thought Maggie said she wasn’t goin’ to let them in anymore.”
“That’s just it. She met them at the door and told them they couldn’t come in, but one of ’em cut her face pretty good; then they went in anyway. All the girls ran upstairs and have locked themselves in one of the rooms, and the Clintons are raisin’ hell down in the parlor.”
“How do you know all this?” Titus asked as he stood up and reached for his hat.
“There was three or four customers in there when this all started,” Travis said. “They come runnin’ out into the street. I seen ’em and asked what was goin’ on, and they told me.”
“How long ago?”
“Hell, not more’n a minute or two ago,” Travis said. “I yelled over at Troy, then we came down here.”
“All right,” Titus said. “Let’s get down there.”
Maggie’s place was at the opposite end of the street from the city marshal’s office, but by the time Titus and his two brothers, both of whom were his deputies, were halfway there, they could hear what was going on.
They could hear the angry exchange of shouts between men and women.
“Go away!” a woman called.
“What do you mean go away? Our money’s as good as anybody else’s money!”
“I wouldn’t split the sheets with any of you if you paid five times as much as the others.”
“You whores better get down here now! You got one minute to get down here,” another man’s voice shouted. “We got Maggie. We’ll start cuttin’ her up if one of you don’t come down.”
“Go away!” the woman’s voice shouted again.
“We’ll go away after we’ve had our fun.”
There was a crowd gathered around outside Maggie’s place, and Titus had to push them aside to open up a path so he and his brothers could get inside. When the three of them were on the porch, Titus placed his finger over his lips in a signal to his brothers to be quiet. Then he looked in through one of the windows.
He saw Ray Clinton sitting on the parlor sofa. Ray was a very big man, at least six feet four inches tall, and weighing well over two hundred pounds. Cletus Clinton was standing at the foot of the stairs, yelling up at the women. Ray and Cletus Clinton were sons of Ike Clinton, whose La Soga Larga ranch was the largest spread in Bent County. Titus also recognized Deke Mathers and Lou Reeder, who were two of the cowboys who rode for the Clintons.
Cletus was holding a bottle and he turned it up for a long, Adams’ apple-bobbing drink before he shouted again.
“I’m not teasin’,” he said. “If one of you whores don’t get down here in the next minute, we’re goin’ to start carvin’ Maggie into little pieces.”
Titus looked around the parlor for Maggie, but didn’t see her.
“Any of you see Maggie?” he asked the other two, speaking quietly enough not to be heard. “I don’t want them to start cuttin’ on her when we go in.”
“I’m down here, Marshal,” a woman’s voice said.
Turning, Titus saw a heavyset, bleached-blond woman standing just behind the hydrangea bush. She was holding a handkerchief to a cut on her face, though there was very little blood on the handkerchief, and, when she pulled it down, he saw that the face wound was light.