Davis was unaware that Cardwell and Jacks had killed everyone in the bank, but he did know that they’d left him and the others behind to be killed while they got away with all the money.
Davis also knew that Cardwell and Jacks had been making camp each night and eating well, because he’d made sure both horses had supplies on them. But there was only a few days’ worth, so they would need to stop in a town soon, not only to divvy up the money, but to outfit themselves.
It was funny. He knew that Cardwell and Jacks didn’t respect him, but they were the ones who needed more than just beef jerky and water to survive. Cardwell had insisted that he be sure to include coffee and beans among the supplies. Davis knew he could last a long time on some jerky and a canteen of water, which was why he’d been able to close the gap between himself and them. If they did stop in a town, he’d catch up to them by midday.
If there was a posse, though, he wondered if they were as far behind him as he was behind Cardwell and Jacks.
James handed Thomas a plate of beans and a cup of coffee, then sat back to eat his own meal. Cory and Colon were also seated around the fire, as the four men had taken to having their meals altogether. It was safer that way, and they were getting to know each other a little better.
While they all now knew who Ralph Cory really was, nothing had yet been said about Rigoberto Colon. Though the Mexican always seemed to be in good humor, he was never very forthcoming with information about his past.
“So who has any idea how much money was taken out of the bank?” Cory asked.
“None of us do,” Thomas said. “We weren’t around long enough after the robbery to find that out.”
“All we know is that they killed everyone in the bank and got away with some money,” James said.
Cory shook his head. “I wonder if the amount of money they got was worth the number of people they killed.”
“How could it be?” James asked. “There isn’t enough money—”
“I meant to them, James,” Cory said. “These men are not like us. They think differently, have different values. All they care about is money, and they don’t care how many people they have to kill to get it.”
“Which I guess,” Thomas said, “answers your original question.”
Cory looked at him. “Yeah.”
James found a stream, and not only took the plates there to wash them, but carried everyone’s canteen to refill. Colon went to check on the horses, leaving Thomas and Cory alone at the fire.
“How well did James know the girl?” Cory asked. “The mayor’s daughter.”
“He didn’t know her at all,” Thomas said. “Not really. He was sweet on her, opened an account at the bank so he could go in and see her whenever he wanted to, but he never really got up the nerve to talk to her.”
“I guess that doesn’t keep him from being…upset over her death,” Cory said.
“No,” Thomas said, “it doesn’t.”
“Thomas, tell me about what happened last year,” Cory said then. “I’ve heard some stories, but…”
“My mother was killed,” Thomas said, “ridden down by bank robbers who had hit the Bank of Epitaph, Texas. It was the Langer gang. We tracked them down, killed most of them, and sent Ethan Langer to prison.”
“I heard he was…crippled.”
“I did that,” Thomas said. “I’m not proud of it. Might have been better if I’d killed him, but I wanted him to suffer.” He paused, then added, “He’d just killed my brother Matthew.”
“I’m sorry,” Cory said. “It must have been hard, losing your mother and your brother.”
“To the same man,” Thomas said. “Sometimes I think…”
Cory waited, and when Thomas didn’t continue, he said, “Think what?”
“Sometimes I wonder…if my pa doesn’t hate me because I didn’t kill Ethan. Or because I didn’t give him the chance to do it.”
“Did you ever talk to him about it?”
“No,” Thomas said. “None of the three of us…we don’t talk about that time very much.”
“Maybe you should,” Cory said.
“Yeah,” Thomas said, “maybe.”
At that moment James returned from the stream, and then Colon came over and announced that the horses were fine.
“Time to turn in,” Thomas said. “Same watches okay?”
The other three men nodded. They’d been keeping watch in the same order since the first night on the trail.
Thomas wrapped himself in his blanket and put his head on his saddle, thinking over his conversation with Ralph Cory. He’d already discussed the events of the previous year more with him than he ever had with his father. Maybe that was something he should fix when he and James got back to Vengeance Creek.
42
In the morning, Ben Cardwell woke first. Simon Jacks, in the next bed, snored noisily. Under Jacks’s arm were his saddlebags, which now contained close to ten thousand dollars, the same amount that was in Cardwell’s saddlebags.
Cardwell sat up and swung his feet to the floor. He was disappointed by the amount of money the saddlebags had yielded. Spread on the bed before they’d counted it, it had seemed like more, but many of the bills were of small denomination. Jacks was satisfied with his take, so much so that he’d taken his money to bed with him. But Cardwell wanted more, and he knew where to get it: the one bank he had not yet tried to rob. But in order to get it done, he was going to need Jacks, and a few more men.
Of course, if word got out about what had happened in Vengeance Creek, he’d never get the men he needed to follow him. All the more reason he needed Simon Jacks, and that meant keeping the man happy.
He stood up, dressed quietly, stuck his saddlebags underneath the bed, then left the room to go downstairs and have some breakfast alone. He needed to do some thinking.
Davis stumbled from his bedroll early, had his last mouthful of jerky, and washed it down with water from his canteen. He knew the area, and knew that he wasn’t far from Blue Mesa. That might even have been the town Cardwell and Jacks had stopped in. If not, he could at least get some supplies there and continue to follow their trail—even though he had the feeling that he knew where it would lead.
Thomas made a fresh pot of coffee and then woke the other four.
“I’ll get breakfast going,” James said as he tossed back his blanket and got to his feet.
“Let’s make do with coffee this mornin’, James,” Thomas said. “I want to get an early start.”
James looked at Cory and Colon, who were staggering to their feet sleepily.
“Suits me,” Cory said. “Quicker we get this all done, the quicker I get back to my shop.”
“Berto?” Thomas said.
“We can always eat,” Colon said.
“Coffee, then,” James said.
“I already made a pot.”
James looked at Thomas and said, “Oh, your coffee?”
“What’s the matter with my coffee?”
“I’ll let them decide if we should drink yours,” James said, “or if I should make a new pot.”
“Make a new pot,” Cory said, “please.”
Thomas looked at Colon. “Berto?”
“Sorry, Tomas,” Colon said. “I agree.”
“Fine,” Thomas said, “go ahead.”
“Don’t be mad, big brother,” James said, patting Thomas on the back. “Good coffee is an art.”
“An art?” Thomas said as his brother went to the fire. “How much of an art can it be to toss a handful of coffee into some hot water?”
“Well,” James said, picking up the existing pot of coffee, “for one thing, you’ve got to wait for the water to boil.”