Chapter 9
Conn followed the tracks back out to the road. A mile from town, they split into two groups.
Most of the riders headed west on a side trail. A few rode straight toward Fairplay, the lights of which glowed faintly in the distance.
Conn hesitated at the crossroads.
What to do? Which trail to follow?
Part of him, the angry, impatient, bloodthirsty part—his heart, he supposed—wanted to follow the larger group and kill a bunch of them at once.
But another part of him, the colder, more patient, far deadlier part—his mind, he supposed—reminded him that he was riding blind.
He knew almost nothing about these men. There were eleven in total, including a short man who looked like a fighter.
That, and they were capable of cold-blooded murder.
Not much to go on. But enough to get killed on, if he rode recklessly into their camp.
The three or four who’d ridden off for town, on the other hand, presented a more manageable target.
If he could track them down and keep one alive long enough to make him talk, he would learn things about the remaining seven or eight men, things that would help him find and kill them.
And that’s what he cared about. Tracking down and killing every last one of them, no matter how long it took.
That was his promise to Cole, to his wife, and to himself.
So he followed the smaller group and rode into town.
Even at high noon, Fairplay wasn’t much to look at. By night, it looked even less impressive, just a muddy lane lined in weathered false fronts and warped boardwalks.
Conn rode at the center of the street, scanning everything.
He passed the blacksmith’s shop. Inside, the forge still glowed red. Outside, a freight wagon sat half-unloaded, its canvas stiff with frost.
The wind was cold at his back. An icy gust set signboards to creaking in a chorus of despair.
Behind the darkened gun shop, a few dogs barked briefly. A man shouted at them, and they fell silent.
Closer, a lamp burned inside a shack. The shape of a woman appeared at the cracked window, looking out at Conn. Then the lamp winked out.
Coming to the center of town, Conn heard laughter and the sounds of a fiddle and thumping feet coming from the Fairplay Saloon, where he’d been only a short time before, when the world was still a very different place, and he, Conn Sullivan, was still a very different man, a man with a brother and a mercifully bright future.
Now, he stared grimly at the saloon. Yellow light bled through slatted shutters, reminding Conn of hellfire.
Were Cole’s killers in there, celebrating their dark deeds over beer and whiskey?
On the opposite side of the street, lights glowed in a doctor’s office, a strange thing at this late hour.
And lo and behold, three horses were hitched outside, their hides steaming in the cold night air.
He rode over to the horses and climbed down and tied his gelding beside them. The horses stamped their hooves at the intrusion, champing their bits and setting their tack to creaking and tinkling.
“You friends of theirs?” a voice called from the shadows in front of the next shop.
Conn pivoted, hand dropping automatically to his Remington, but he didn’t pull his weapon because he recognized the voice as belonging to a child, not a murderer.
A boy stepped into view, holding his hands in the air. But he didn’t look too worried. Of course, a boy running the streets of Fairplay at this time of night had probably seen his share of hard men and likely had some hard bark himself.
“Don’t shoot, mister,” the boy said, a grin coming onto his freckled face. “I was just being sociable was all.”
“I won’t shoot you,” Conn said.
The boy lowered his hands, the smile stretching wider. “Lots of action tonight. Saloon’s been lively. Then these three fellas rode in and pounded on the door until Doc Willis came down. He was none too happy, let me tell you. Are they friends of yours?”
“No.”
“Foes?”
Conn said nothing to that. “How many of them are in there?”
“Now? Just the one. He was hurt pretty bad. His buddies went across the street into the saloon.”
“Who are they?”
“I don’t know, mister.”
Conn stuck a hand in his pocket and came back out with a greenback. “Who are they?”
The boy shrugged. “I really don’t know, mister. I’ve seen them around lately. The last few weeks or maybe a month from time to time. They ride into town, get drunk, and ride back out. Sometimes, there’s a bunch of them.”
“How many? At most, I mean.”
“I don’t know. I never stopped to count. Ten, maybe? I don’t know. Maybe a dozen? There’s a bunch of them that ride together sometimes. They’re a little on the rough side.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, Danny Bump rides with them, and he’s always been meaner than a badger.”
“He’s local?”
The boy nodded.
“You know any other names?”
“The short one’s named Henry, I think. I’ve heard others call to him by that name.”
Everything in Conn sharpened then. “Short one, huh? He have a scarred-up face like a fighter?”
The boy nodded. “That’s Henry. He’s their leader, I think. At least, he acts that way.”
Conn gestured toward the saloon. “Is Henry in there now?”
“No, sir. He wasn’t one of the three.”
“What else can you tell me about them?”
“Well, like I said, the one fella’s hurt real bad. His face is all busted up, and they couldn’t get him to wake up. Said he fell off his horse.”
Conn had been punched by his brother before, and it felt about like falling off a horse. Or maybe getting kicked by one.
“The other two, they ain’t nobody I’d mess with,” the kid said. “They said some pretty mean things to the doc, telling him what they’d do to him and his wife if he didn’t fix up their friend. Then they laughed about it, heading over to the saloon.”
“What do they look like?”
“Sort of rough. Shabby. One bearded, the other clean-shaven, sort of. The one with the beard’s got dark hair, maybe black, and he wears a big old hat and what I guess you’d call a range coat? Long, leather thing, comes down to his knees.”
“And the other one?”
“Tall, skinny. I don’t remember what he was wearing. Just clothes, I suspect. But he’s got two guns tied down like a gunfighter and he’s got a gleam in his eyes like a dog that’s about to bite.”
“Son, I appreciate your help,” Conn said, and handed the boy the dollar.
“Gee, thanks, mister.”
“My pleasure. You did a good job telling me everything you did. Would you like some more money?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Well, I’m fixing to go inside this doctor’s office.”
The boy nodded.
“While I’m in there,” Conn said, “you keep an eye on my horse, all right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And if those men come out of the saloon, you holler into the office and let me know, okay?”
“Yes, sir. I can do that.”
“Good boy. You do that, and I’ll give you another dollar.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I’m counting on you,” Conn said, and went into the doctor’s office.