Chapter Forty-Three

 

Standing from the small eatery table he shared with Roady in the hotel lobby, Francis stretched and glanced out the window. Darkness had replaced twilight. Shad sat with Nick. Pedro was out somewhere, hidden on the street, keeping an eye on the jail. He’d be relieved by Shad sometime after midnight. Smokey had retired upstairs with Faith and Colton.

Jed Kasterlee sat half a room away at his counter, reading a paper and drinking the same rotgut coffee they had in their cups.

Most places in town closed up tight after eight o’clock. The plan was when he and Nick left, Roady would keep Jed talking so he didn’t venture out and see where Nick and Francis went. Earlier, Shad and Pedro had quietly pried some loose boards free in each room of the old hotel and made space for the weapons. They didn’t need much if the guns were stacked.

Nick stood and reached for his hat on the rack.

Francis did the same and, making sure his voice carried across the room, said, “We’re gonna take a walk round around town. Stretch our legs. Can’t remember ever feeling this useless.”

Mr. Kasterlee looked up.

“You be sure to stay out of trouble,” Roady replied sternly. “We’ve got enough on our plate. Don’t stay out long.”

“Just going to the saloon for a quick beer.”

Shad chuckled. “We’re turning in shortly. To be young again…”

Francis almost rolled his eyes. As if Shad were old? “We won’t get into trouble. I don’t think any could be found in this place. Makes Y Knot feel like a metropolis.”

“Metropolis, Francis?” Shad laughed, a silly grin on his face. “That’s a mouthful to use.”

Francis tossed him a cranky stare. “Coming from you, Petty, that’s rich.”

When Roady’s eyebrow tweaked, Francis ambled over to Jed.

The hotel owner glanced up from the newspaper. “What?”

Francis positioned his foot as close as he could to the man’s without seeming suspicious.

Kasterlee frowned and leaned back.

He must not like me in his space. “Just wondering what you’re plannin’ to serve in the mornin’? I’m sort of tired of the breakfast Clevenger dishes out.”

Everyone agreed the cold oatmeal the hotel served was a last resort and took their meal in the restaurant.

A pleasant smile replaced Kasterlee’s frown. “I think I’ll make flapjacks, if you’re interested.”

Miracles do happen. Francis gave a hearty nod and rubbed his hard belly. “Good. Count me in.” With a glance at Roady, he followed Nick, who’d been waiting at the door, out into the night. “Well?” he asked.

“Too close to call in the dim light.”

They paused, letting their eyes adjust to the darkness.

“And even if his boot did fit the print,” Nick said. “Doesn’t make him guilty.”

Francis drilled him with a look. “I know that. I’m narrowing the field.”

“Just wanted to be sure you were aware there’s some play in this reasoning.”

“I’ve thought of everything.” Francis scanned the street, sure Nick was doing the same. All seemed quiet. Across from the hotel was the jail. Behind the backdrop of darkness, two lanterns burned inside, illuminating Jack behind the desk, writing away at something.

“Wonder where Clark is?” Nick whispered at his side.

The abandoned house where the guns were stashed was around the corner from the livery, which was all the way down at the end of the street past the mercantile and bank. Around the corner in the opposite direction from the livery was the pitiful establishment the residents called a saloon, set out by itself on the edge of town.

Nick hitched his head across the street. “Should we stop in and check on Luke?”

Walking slowly side-by-side, Francis looked around. “Not yet. Maybe after we get the job done. Then we’ll have something to report. Besides, if he’s restin’, I don’t want to bother him.”

They paused at the eatery window. Tilly was having supper with Neil, but Daniel Clevenger was nowhere to be seen. When Nick went to move on, Francis touched his arm. “Wait. I want to see if Clevenger comes out of the back room.”

After about ten minutes, Francis felt certain the man wasn’t around. “Give me one second.” He left Nick on the boardwalk and stepped inside, removing his hat. Going to Tilly’s table, he smiled. “Evenin’, Tilly, Neil.”

Tilly smiled back. “Evening, Francis.”

Neil set down his fork and nodded, wiping his mouth.

“Was wonderin’, is Clevenger anywhere about? I have a message for him from Roady.”

Tilly glanced toward the stove and then back at him. “I haven’t seen him. Has his assistant cooking tonight. Is the message important? Something I might pass on if he does come in?”

“Nope. Just a request for the mornin’. We eat here pretty much every day. But thanks.”

Back outside, the sounds of a horse coming up the street drew their attention. They waited as a stranger rode past on a tall bay without so much as a nod. They continued on. Across from them, the mercantile was buttoned up tight, and a light shone in the upstairs window. Christine Meeks and her children hadn’t yet turned in.

Between the empty building and the undertaker’s, Francis paused, and Nick followed suit.

Nick unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. “What d’ya think?” he asked, the words barely audible. “Feels deader than a doornail. Should we go straight to the shack and get to work?”

They shouldn’t be hasty. If they messed this up and Jones and Clark confiscated their weapons, they’d be defenseless if a sudden move happened on Luke. They couldn’t chance the risk. “No, we stick to the plan. Head to the saloon, spend some time over a drink, and then we’ll decide. One chance at this is all we get.”

With a nod from Nick, they started off.

Leather shop was dark. They rounded the corner and came face-to-face with Deputy Clark. He reeked of whiskey, not that Francis was anyone to judge.

Clark pulled up and sneered. “What’re you boys doing out after dark?”

“On our way to the saloon,” Nick said. “Where you’ve come from, if I had to guess from your smell.”

Having been shot down by nearly everyone today, Nick was sporting a chip. Francis nudged his arm.

“Thought I told Guthrie I didn’t want you men out at night.” He glanced around, his jaw slack. “It’s long past sundown.”

“You didn’t say anything about sundown, Deputy,” Francis replied in a calm tone. “Just midnight. We plan to be tucked in tight by then. All we want is a quick beer.”

Clearly drunk, Clark drew his revolver. The barrel waved unsteadily between Francis and Nick. Angry, Francis glanced at Nick. They needed a plan to disarm Clark, and they needed it fast.

“Can we buy you a drink?” Nick quickly asked. “No need for you to be rushing back to the office, is there? A minute ago, we noticed Jack Jones at the desk. I’m sure he’s watching the prisoner with a sharp eye.”

“A drink?” The man’s demeanor changed completely. He blinked several times followed by a halfhearted shrug.

Francis smiled. “Have time?”

“Don’t see why not.”

From across the table, Francis and Nick sent a silent message with their gaze.

Deputy Clark was on his fourth whiskey.

Nick and Francis on their second. At this rate, they’d never complete their task tonight.

“Good one, boys,” Clark slurred. He pointed at their half-full glasses as he slumped in his chair. He wobbled precariously to one side.

“And what’s that fella’s name over there?” Nick asked, pointing at a drawing on the wall. “He looks important.”

When the man turned his head, Francis snuck his glass under the table, dumped the remainder on the floor, and covered it with his boot.

“You boys don’t know nothin’,” Hoss chortled happily, slapping a palm on the scarred tabletop. “You’re stupid. That’s Duffalo Dill Cody,” he slurred. “Any fool would recognize him…”

“I sure didn’t.” Francis made a show of draining the last bit of whiskey from his glass. They couldn’t go off and leave Hoss here in case he stumbled out later, catching them as they worked. He’d shoot to kill. They’d need to make sure he was on his way back to the jail before they attempted anything. “Nick, you about ready? Roady’ll be plenty mad we stayed out so long.”

Clark chuckled, his face scarlet from all the whiskey. “Tell him you was with me.” He picked up his half-full shot glass and looked at Nick’s.

“On the count of three?” Nick asked.

Clark nodded.

“One.” Nick lifted his glass. “Two…”

Clark swilled down his drink, but Nick tossed his over his shoulder, no one the wiser since they were in the back of the room.

Francis and Nick stood easily, but the deputy had to struggle to get to his feet. They linked his elbows with theirs.

“This is might nice of you boys,” he said, slobber leaking from the corner of his lips. “Frankly, I’m surprised.”

Outside and rounding the corner, Francis hitched his head to the undertaker’s, the nearest building to the saloon. The deputy stumbled between them, totally unaware of anything. The moment they set him down, he’d be asleep. After checking the street, they scooted around back where two open caskets sat on the back porch of the establishment.

“I sure hated wasting all that good whiskey,” Nick said as they shimmied the deputy’s large frame into the too-small pine box. “Should we nail him in?” He pointed to the hammer and nails on a workbench. “He’ll have a real scare when he wakes up.”

Francis pressed his lips together. “No. He’s so drunk he won’t remember how he got here. He’ll think he stumbled and fell in. I’ll bet we don’t hear a word about this.” He gave a low humorous whistle. “At least we don’t have to worry about him walking the streets tonight.” He hitched his head. “One last thing before we leave.” He went to the end of the coffin, where Clark’s feet rested on the rim and held up his boot to the deputy’s, measuring the size. “Look at that,” Francis exclaimed. “Small feet for such a large man.” He lowered his foot. “Let’s go.”

By the time they hit the alley, the deputy was snoring like a bear.

Across the street, a lantern hung from a tree branch outside the livery’s front doors, illuminating the area, and behind that, the abandoned house. “Let’s cut through, see if Pink Kelly’s anywhere around. If anyone were to discover us, the sharp-eyed liveryman would be the one. He watches me every time I go to check on the horses. Pretends he’s working, but I’m never out of his sight.”

“I’ve noticed that too,” Nick whispered back. “Let’s get this done. The longer we stay out, the longer someone is bound to back-shoot us and ask for forgiveness after the fact.”

Francis nodded, feeling twenty years older than his years. “My thoughts, exactly.”