Vengeance Creek Read online

  “I expected them to split up by now,” Rigoberto Colon said.

  They were all sitting their horses, waiting for someone—Thomas, most likely—to decide if they should camp or get another half hour under their belts before dark, and now they turned and looked at the Mexican.

  “It was just a thought,” he said, shrugging. “They must have split the money by now, no?”

  “I don’t think so,” Cory said.

  Thomas and James looked at him.

  “I think they’re waiting to reach a town where they might be able to get some rest, split the money, and plan their next move.”

  “We’ve only been tracking them a few days,” Thomas said.

  “They’ve been pushing their horses,” Cory said, “and so have we.”

  “And what about the man in the middle?” James asked.

  Now the eyes of the other three men landed on him.

  “I mean the man between us and them.”

  “Same thing,” Cory said. “We’re all pushing our animals, and we either have to rest them or risk having them go lame beneath us.”

  They’d bypassed several small towns, as the tracks they were following indicated that the other two men had done the same.

  “You got a town in mind?” Thomas asked Cory.

  “No,” Cory said, “just something bigger than the ones we’ve passed, but not too big, and something strategically situated.”

  “What is strat—strati—” Colon started.

  “He means a town located someplace…handy,” James explained to him.

  “In what way?”

  “Well,” Cory said, “it would be on the borders of two or three different states, or territories.”

  “Like Arizona, Utah Territory, and Colorado?” Thomas asked.

  “Exactly,” Cory said. “If they split up there, they’ve got their choice of where to go.”

  “But we can still track them, right?” James asked.

  “We can…” Cory said.

  “Unless?” Thomas asked.

  “Unless they switch horses.”

  “We better keep movin’, then,” James said.

  “Wait,” Thomas said. “Ralph is right, the horses need rest.”

  “And so do we?” Colon offered.

  “I can keep ridin’—” James said, but his older brother cut him off.

  “No,” he said. “We’ll camp here, James.”

  “But—”

  “We’re still a couple of days behind them, James,” Cory said. “It’s not going to do any harm to camp for the night and get a fresh start in the morning.”

  “But if they stop in a town—”

  “Then we’ll be able to get some information about them when we reach it,” Cory finished. “It’s actually the best thing for us if they do stop.”

  “And split the money?” James asked. “And switch horses?”

  “They do all that and they’ll attract attention, leaving us a bigger trail to follow,” Cory said. “Let’s do like your brother says and camp for the night.”

  All eyes fell on James, who squirmed beneath the attention.

  “All right,” he said reluctantly. This was all still a learning experience for him. He wanted to absorb all he could from “Ralph Cory.”

  “Same chores, everyone,” Thomas said. He dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to Colon. The others did the same, and the Mexican went off to take care of the horses.

  While Cory went to find some wood for a fire, James said to Thomas, “Do you trust him?”

  “Cory?” Thomas asked. “Or Berto?”

  “Well…both of ’em.”

  “Pa trusted them enough to send them along with us,” Thomas said, clapping his brother on the back. “That’s good enough for me.”

  41

  “We’re takin’ a chance checkin’ into a hotel,” Simon Jacks told Cardwell.

  “What’s life without takin’ a few risks, Jacks?” Cardwell asked. “Besides, we need a room so we can finally count the money, and split it up.”

  “Well, I’m for that.”

  They got one room with two beds, and carried their saddlebags upstairs. Blue Mesa was not a big town, but it had two hotels and a few saloons, and that was big enough. There would be enough activity for the two of them to go unnoticed, but for now they had business to conduct behind closed doors.

  Cardwell was the first to upend his saddlebags and empty the money onto the bed, but Jacks was right behind him. Before long the bed was covered with money.

  “I told you that bank was worth hittin’,” Cardwell said.

  “Yeah, you did,” Jacks said, “and you didn’t lie.”

  “Well,” Cardwell said, getting on his knees next to the bed, “let’s start countin’.”

  Sean Davis had no choice but to make cold camps along the way because all he had in his saddlebags was some beef jerky. He chewed on the last of it while he wondered if there was a posse behind him, and, if there was, whether they were looking for Cardwell and Jacks, or also looking for him. When it came right down to it, he hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d been holding the horses when the shooting started, and nobody could place him in the bank. If there was a posse and they caught up to him, they couldn’t touch him. If they tried, then he’d just give them Cardwell and Jacks.

  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 a
n 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.”

  “You don’t wait for the coffee to boil?” Cory asked.

  “It’ll boil eventually,” Thomas said defensively.

  James shook his head, upended the pot and poured out his brother’s coffee. He then reached for a canteen.

  “Watch and learn, big brother,” he said, placing the pot on the fire.

  Before they broke camp it was Thomas’s job to go to the stream and refill the canteens while the others enjoyed James’s coffee. He was crouching over the water, filling the last canteen, when he heard a footfall behind him. He dropped the canteen and turned, reaching for his gun.

  “I wouldn’t,” a man’s voice said.

  Thomas stopped his hand but completed the turn. The man was older than him, but younger than Ralph Cory, probably around thirty-five or so. And he was holding a rifle on him.

  “That’s a unfriendly move,” the man said.

  “So’s sneakin’ up on someone.”

  “I wasn’t sneakin’,” the man said. “If I was, you never would’ve heard me.”

  “Still,” Thomas said, “you’re the one holdin’ the rifle.”

  “So I am,” the man said. “Tell me, is that coffee I smell?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I won’t kill you if you’ll invite me for a cup,” the man said. “How’s that sound?”

  “Consider yourself invited.”

  Abruptly, the man raised his rifle barrel and said, “Finish refilling your canteens, then.”

  Thomas did so and stood up. “Camp is this way.”

  The man fell into step with him and said, “My name is Forbes, Hal Forbes.”

  “Thomas Shaye.”

  “Deputy, I see.”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me,” Forbes said, as they walked toward the camp, “is the coffee good?”

  “That’s what my brother tells me.”

  43

  At the camp, Thomas made the introductions and gave Forbes the cup of coffee he’d promised for not killing him.

  “It’s a good thing you’re not havin’ a cup of Thomas’s coffee,” James said after hearing the promise. “You’d have killed him anyway.”

  They all had a laugh at the expense of Thomas’s coffee, and he made a silent promise not to ever make another pot of coffee again, no matter who begged him.

  “You don’t mind me sayin’ so,” Forbes commented, “you fellas sort of look like a posse.”

  “We are,” Thomas said. “James and I are deputies out of Vengeance Creek. Ralph and Rigoberto are—well, they were pressed into service, I guess you’d say.”

  “Vengeance Creek?” Forbes said with a frown. “That’s quite a ways south. You trackin’ your men north?”

  “We are.”

  “Any farther north and you’ll be out of Arizona,” he said. “Your badges won’t be much good then. How far you boys willin’ to go?”

  “As far as it takes,” James said. “The men we’re after robbed a bank and killed a lot of p
eople.”

  “A lot?” Forbes asked.

  “Everyone who worked in it,” Thomas said. “They executed them.”

  “And you intend to catch them and execute them?” Forbes asked.

  “Maybe—” James started, but he was cut off by Thomas.

  “We intend to catch them and bring them back to be tried in court,” he said. “That’s our job.”

  Forbes looked at each of them in turn, then said, “I see.”

  “Tell me, Mr. Forbes,” Ralph Cory said, “what brings you out here?”

  “Me?” Forbes asked. “I work here.”

  “Here?” James asked.

  “You’re on the Double W land.”

  “Double W?” Thomas asked.

  “It’s a ranch—”

  “I know what it is. Who owns it?”

  “A man named William Wilson,” Forbes said. “I work for him. I’m the foreman.”

  “What are you doin’ out here?” James asked. “Isn’t a foreman supposed to supervise his men?”

  “I’m out checking for strays.”

  “Horse?” Thomas asked.

  “Cattle?” Cory asked.

  “Both,” Forbes said, “and men.” He finished his coffee, dumped the dregs on the fire, and stood up. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “Mr. Forbes—” Thomas said.

  “Call me Hal.”

  “Hal,” Thomas said, “the men we’re chasing rode into Vengeance Creek on Double W horses.”

  Forbes frowned. “What were their names?”

  “Ben Cardwell and Sean Davis.”

  “These the two you’re chasin’?”

  “Them and one other,” Thomas said. “We’re not sure of his name, but two of them are definitely Cardwell and Davis. Do those names ring a bell?”

  “Can’t say that they do.”

  “What about your boss?” Thomas asked. “Would he know them?”

  “I guess you’d have to ask him that.”

  “We can’t stop to do that, Thomas,” James said. “The trail will grow cold.”

  Thomas was in a quandary. He thought that William Wilson would be worth talking to, but did he do it himself and allow James to continue to follow the trail? Or should he send James to the ranch to talk with the man and continue on himself?