Happy Larn snickered and whispered to his brothers, “Listen to him. Shows how much he knows. We’ve stole women before. Remember that filly with the red hair? She sure was a wildcat.”
“It was a shame you strangled her,” Cordial Larn said.
Happy Larn shrugged. “She shouldn’t have riled me like she done. She had only herself to blame.”
Men were converging on the bar to hear more from the bearer of sensational tidings.
“I told you we had nothin’ to worry about,” Stern Larn reiterated. “We can finish up and ride on whenever we are of a mind.”
“What say we join the posse?” Verve Larn proposed. “It ain’t every day we get to hunt a jasper as famous as Jeeter Frost.”
His brothers stared at him as if they had never seen him before, and Stern said, “I have heard some lunkhead notions in my time, but that beats all. The idea is for us to fight shy of the law, not rub elbows with it.”
“It might be fun,” Verve insisted.
“You go if you want,” Cordial said. “And if anyone recollects seein’ you down toward Crooked Creek and asks if you had anything to do with the death of Crooked Creek Sam, you can tell them shootin’ him was fun, too.”
“Forget the damn posse,” Stern snapped. “We have business in Coffin Varnish the day after tomorrow. Or have you forgotten?”
“I ain’t forgot nothin’,” Verve said. “I will be there with the rest of you. Kin comes before all else.”
“A family is like a chain,” Stern said. “All the links have to be strong or the chain will break.”
“Dang, that was well put,” Happy said. “You have a way with words.”
“Enough rotgut and I can babble with the best of ’em.” Stern smirked, then soberly told Verve, “But I was serious about the chain. You are one of the links. You must always be there for those who share your blood. Kin is more important than anything.”
“I know that.”
“Then let’s not hear any more foolish talk about posses and such,” Stern said. “We have killin’ of our own to do. Those Haslett boys would like nothin’ better than to put windows in our skulls.”
“That is only fittin’,” Happy said, snickering, “since I can’t wait to put windows in theirs.”
“I wish there were more of us than there are of them,” Cordial said. “Four against four is too fair.”
Stern Larn nodded. “I have been thinkin’ the same thing. We need an edge and I figure I have come up with one.” He smiled. “We get to Coffin Varnish before they do and lie in wait for them.”
“Shoot them from ambush?” Happy said. “The people in Coffin Varnish might not like that.”
Verve snorted. “They invite folks to kill one another, they shouldn’t be particular about how it is done.”
“I never said it had to be
“You are a man after my own heart,” Verve said.
“I like the idea as much as you do,” Cordial said, “but there was mention of permits, which means we have to get permission from somebody.”
“That’s right,” Happy said. “If we don’t do it right, we are liable to have the law after us.”
Stern Larn sat back. “Only if the law knows it was us. What if we shoot the Hasletts and skedaddle? We can be halfway to Denver before anybody comes after us.”
“The only one who knew about the feud is Crooked Creek Sam,” Verve mentioned, “and he won’t be tellin’.”
“Let’s put it to a vote,” Stern said. “Do we bother with a permit or do we do this the way hill folk have been killin’ one another since the dawn of creation?” He held up his hand. “I will start. I vote for ambush.”
“For ambush,” Verve said, squirming in his chair.
Happy Larn added his say. “Ambush.”
That left Cordial. He endured their stares while refilling his glass and then emptied half of it at a gulp.
“Well?” Verve prompted.
“I am a Larn, ain’t I?” Cordial said. “I am as strong a link in the chain as any of you.”
“Good.” Stern Larn rose. “Finish your drinks and let’s fan the breeze. We have us some killin’ to do.”
Chapter 23
Seamus Glickman had pounded his boots on the floor for so long and so hard, his feet were throbbing welters of pain. He pounded them several more times, wincing as his ankles protested with agony, and listening intently for someone to call out and demand to know what all the ruckus was about. The other boarders had to hear. But no one yelled; no one came. He sagged, his chin on his chest.
As soon as Jeeter Frost and the schoolmarm left, Seamus had started pounding. That was a good twenty minutes ago. His ankles were tied, and Frost had secured his arms to the bottom of a bedpost, but he could still move his legs. Not that it had done him any good.
For the umpteenth time Seamus pushed against the gag with his tongue. It would not move. Frost had wedged it fast and tied a smelly bandanna over his mouth to keep it in place.
