“All the more reason,” Seamus said, raising his voice over the drum of hooves. “Listen. So long as no one took the idiots in Coffin Varnish up on their addlepated notion, the sheriff did not mind their lunacy. But if Caine and Stevens have swapped lead, they have opened the floodgates. A thing like this could catch on and bring no end of trouble.”
“Aren’t you making more out of it than there might be?”
“No, boy, I am not. Sheriff Hinkle does his best to make the Jeeter Frosts of this world unwelcome in Ford County. Now, thanks to the jackasses in Coffin Varnish, we are extending an invite to every curly wolf from here to California and back again to come and kill. Can’t you see the problems that will cause?”
“All the more reason for me to write about it,” Lafferty said. “So I can present your side of the issue. So the people can be informed.”
Seamus had not thought of that. Public outrage was a powerful force—force politicians were more apt to respond to than anything else. “It has to be done right.”
“Never fear. I won’t glorify it if blood has indeed been spilled,” Lafferty said. “Maybe nothing has come of it, though. Maybe they came to their senses and called it off.”
Seamus was not optimistic. Paunch Stevens had a notorious temper, and Club Caine was not to be trifled with.
A commotion at the saloon did not bode well. The Mexicans were there, standing in the hot sun in their sombreros. The Italian family was under the overhang, the boys trying to peer in the window, the mother not letting them. No one said a word as Seamus strode inside. He stopped at the sight of two bodies and a god-awful amount of blood. “Son of a bitch,” he snapped.
“I will thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head,” Adolphina Luce said. She was bent over Club Caine, who was in a chair, stripped to the waist. “There is a lady present.”
Seamus almost asked, “Where?” but bit it off. He stared at the dead dove, then at what was left of Paunch Stevens, then at Win Curry, who had his lips glued to a bottle and was as pale as a sheet. Chester Luce was watching his wife tend Club Caine’s wound. Seamus went over. “How bad is he?”
“I can answer for myself,” Club said. “The cur nicked me in the shoulder. In a month I will be as good as new.” He smiled broadly. “As you can see, he got the worst of our exchange.”
“I want details,” Seamus said. “You might be charged with murder.”
“Not bloody likely seeing as he shot first.”
“That’s true, Sheriff,” Chester Luce said, his voice squeaking more than normal. “If there was ever an instance of self-defense, this was it.”
“You and your damned stupid idea,” Seamus said.
Adolphina looked up, her washcloth poised. “I will not remind you again, Sheriff Glickman. I will be treated with respect whether you want to treat me with respect or not.”
Seamus, angry as hell, said to Caine, “How could you? I can understand Paunch. He never could think straight when his dander was up. But you I credited with more sense.”
“Thank you,” Club said. “But some things just need to be done. He was talking about me behind my back and insulting a lady of my acquaintance.”
“Hardly cause to kill a man.”
“Do you suffer insults?” Club asked. “From what I have heard, no, you do not. You are a fine one to cast stones.”
“Oh, hell,” Seamus said, and turned. Lafferty was hunkered by Paunch Stevens and furiously scribbling notes. “What are you writing?”
“Descriptions, while they are fresh and vivid. Half his head is missing! It is gloriously hideous.”
“The whole world has gone insane,” Seamus opined, and moved to the bar. “Give me a drink. I don’t care what so long as it is not water.”
Winifred Curry’s eyes were moist. “I liked her,” he said hoarsely as he slid a bottle across. “Liked her a lot. She and I were friends for years.”
“The whore?” Seamus said without thinking.
“Who else?” Win chugged more bug juice. “I swear, I am going to get so booze blind, I can’t stand up.”
“Before that happens, suppose I start with you. Tell me everything you saw, everything you heard. Leave nothing out.”
It took half an hour for Seamus to get the statements. When he was done he went out for a breath of air. The Mexicans and the Italian family were still there, and so were the Swedish farmer and his wife. “I trust you are all proud of yourselves,” Seamus said bitterly.
“I not approve,” Dolph Anderson said somberly. “To kill be very bad. My wife, she agree.”
“As do I,” Placido said.
“Then why didn’t you speak up when your idiot mayor came up with the idea?” Seamus asked.
“He is mayor,” Anderson said simply.
In disgust, Seamus snapped, “Fools, the whole bunch of you. Because none of you have a backbone, one of your own has died.”
“I will miss Sally Worth,” Placido said. “She was always nice to Arturo and me. She had lived so much of life, she understood.”
“She won’t be doing any more living,” Seamus said, rubbing it in. He heard the batwings creak.
