Ed Gorman - Showdown

"Well, excuse me all to hell, old lady. But I want to dance with this here gal."

Bogstad had apparently assumed that nobody at the table would present him with any problem. Frank Barstow surprised everybody, maybe even himself.

Barstow brought up an early-model Colt that looked to weigh twenty-eight pounds. There were a lot better updated Colts on the market, but this one would do just fine, thank you. This close to his target, Barstow could put a considerable hole in Bogstad's chest.

"You and your friend git now. And I mean now." Bogstad grinned. "You shouldn't ever threaten a man when your hand is shakin' like that."

Prine saw what was going to happen and decided to step in. The first thing he did was stand up and quickly cross over to the chair where Case was sitting. Case was ready to draw when he thought he was needed. Prine showed him his badge and forced him to turn over both his gun and his Bowie knife.

Neville was up, too. He walked over to Bogstad and said, "Put the gun down. Your partner's covered. Nobody here to help you. Put the gun down and walk out of here, just as Mr. Barstow said. You understand?"

Bogstad wasn't a man of pride. He wouldn't fight on principle when he was outnumbered. He'd surrender his gun and his person, knowing that if you didn't kill Prine and Neville now, he would someday, some way have an opportunity to shoot them in the back and overtake them with a band of gunnies like himself. Patience was every bit as much a weapon as a six-gun. Prine always laughed at the dime-novel gunfights when they faced off many yards apart. Most gunfights involved the front of a pistol and the back of a human. Or an assassin in shadow. Most gunfighters were like Bogstad here. Cowards with Colts.

Bogstad handed his weapon to Prine. "Now, don't you go sellin' that on me. My ma gave me that for my third birthday." Since he didn't get a laugh, he said, "You're Prine. That deputy from Claybank. Maybe you should know that me 'n' Case over there're on the same side you are."

He turned around, faced Prine.

"Yeah, how's that?"

"We're after Tolan and Rooney, too. We don't think it's right that the pretty young gal shoulda been done that way."

"Of course, this wouldn't have anything to do with the reward, now, would it?"

Bogstad snorted. "Now, just because I don't look too good or smell too good or talk too good, don't mean I don't care about my fellow human beings."

"Where'd you get a line like that?"

"Theater," Case said from the back of the room. He pronounced it "thee-ater."

"Outside Kansas City. We was laughin' for days about it. Funniest daggone line I ever heard me."

Prine ignored him. "You have any idea where Tolan and Ronney are?"

Bogstad said, "Now, why would you think that?"

"Because I saw you talking to them at least twice in Claybank. Right before the kidnapping."

"We know 'em, sure," Bogstad said.

"From where?"

"Here and there. Around."

"That isn't very specific."

"We're sort of in the same line of work, you might say."

"But you wouldn't happen to know where they might have headed?"

"We got just about as much information as you do, Deputy."

Prine drove his fist hard into Bogstad's stomach. Bogstad doubled over. He looked shocked as well as pained. "What the hell was that for?"

"For interrupting these people. They were just having a nice time, and you had to ruin it for them."

He picked up Bogstad's six-shooter and emptied it of bullets, which he set on the table. "Now you and your partner get out of here, the way Mr. Barstow said." He handed Bogstad his empty gun.

Bogstad walked with some difficulty. He still couldn't stand up quite straight. The pain in his stomach was obviously still severe. He went to the door, and Case joined him there. Case preceded Bogstad outside.

Neville came up. "You're just letting them walk away? They may know something."

"I'm sure they do," Prine said. "And that's why we're going to follow them."

Chapter Fourteen

Bogstad and Case took the route Prine had assumed they would. A town named Picaro lay twenty miles due north of here. It was the remnants of a boomtown notorious even among boomtowns for its violence and corruption. It was still innocent of any real law, so it would be a good place for two men on the run to put up for a while.

They climbed into the foothills again, the terrain rougher now, rocky on the one hand, muddy on the other. Bogstad and Case didn't make good time, nor did Prine and Neville.

When they were able to ride side by side, Neville said, "I didn't treat her very well."

"You did what you could. Raising a kid when you're a kid isn't easy."

"She always said I didn't take her seriously, and now that I think about it, I think she was right. I just keep thinking of all the ways I could've treated her better. I was a piss-poor brother."

Prine knew there was no point in arguing, trying to make Neville feel better. Dawn was turning out the stars. Pumas and wild dogs and wolves were waking, making growling morning noises, padding about their immediate areas searching for food. Best to listen to their voices and forget Neville. He was at the stage in his grieving where he had to be honest with himself, had to admit that the way he'd handled his sister had been wrong. She been more nuisance than sister to him, something he needed to control because it would look bad for his peacock ego if he didn't. Prine knew what he was going through. Prine was going through something of the same thing. He'd learned a lot about himself last night. Learned that his dreams of wealth and prominence were the dreams of a child, not of an adult. Maybe he could've saved Cassie's life if he hadn't been so foolish; and maybe he wouldn't have had to break Lucy's heart because he was so selfish.

"She thought a lot of you," Prine said, giving in. That's what Neville wanted to hear, and what the hell—who did it hurt to lie in this way?

"When did she tell you that?"

"The other night. After the recital."

"You're not bullshitting me?"

"Why would I bullshit you? That's what she said."

"Why was she talking about me?"

Prine shrugged. "Just talking about her life. How much she liked working at the church. And thinking about her future. And how good to her you always were."

Neville spat. "That's the kind of shit I am, Prine. I push her around the way I did and she thinks I'm treating her decently. There's going to be a special place for me in Hell, I can tell you that."

By full light, they could see Picaro below them. The town was girdled by deserted mines and large pieces of rusted mining equipment. There were so many failed mines just before the last recession that the equipment lost most of its value. Wasn't worth the shipping prices, given the minuscule profit the mine owners would make.

Through his field glasses, Prine could see that some of the equipment was already rusted clean through. The gear looked like giant steel animals, long dead.

The town itself looked decent enough. Several blocks of whitewashed little houses that had probably been owned by the mining company at one point. Couple churches, two long blocks of commercial buildings, a redbrick schoolhouse with an athletic field next to it, two factories, and some small stucco buildings that looked like manufacturing shops of some kind. For a town whose boom days were past, Picaro looked all right.

Neville was hiding in his silence again. Prine didn't mind. He was sleepy enough to slump in his saddle. Sometimes in the past few hours he'd felt unreal, as if he were witnessing all the events of the past thirty-six hours without participating. There was a deadness in him that precluded all feelings except fear.

He jerked awake at the outskirts of town. Some scruffy kids were splashing through the mud puddles in the road, screeching and hollering and giggling as they did so. He envied them. A pure perfect image came to him. He was eight and playing baseball with his brother in the front yard, and he had just hit a baseball farther than he ever had. And his brother, who'd never paid him much respect before—his brother's whole attitude changed right then and there. He never forgot it. His brother didn't push him around anymore. Call him names. Punish him. Prine still wasn't quite an equal, but he came damned close.