“Jesus,” the other brother said in disgust, “that’s an offer?”
“Consider my chances against the comancheros.”
“You seem pretty confident about your chances,” Brian Foxx said.
“I’ve got an exaggerated opinion of my own abilities. What do you say?”
“I say forget it.”
“We’ll take it,” Brian said.
“Shit we will!” Brent Foxx said. He stood up and started running toward Decker, his gun out.
At least he thought he was running toward Decker. After firing his shotgun, Decker had moved a few pews away. He watched now as Brent ran to where he thought Decker was, and then stopped in confusion.
Decker could have blown him in half, and that would have gotten him his reward.
Instead he said, “Don’t move.”
The man, all red hair and freckles—which stood out starkly against the pale skin of his face— turned his eyes and looked down both barrels of the sawed-off.
“Drop the gun.”
The man’s eyes flicked about for a moment, looking for a way out, and then he obeyed.
“All right, Brian,” Decker called out, “I’ve got a new deal for you.”
“What is it?”
“Your brother’s life in exchange for your help.”
“My help with what?”
“If my friends have managed to get themselves captured by the comancheros, I want your help in getting them out.”
“You’re crazy,” Brent said.
Decker looked at him and said, “If you open your damn mouth again, you’re a dead man.”
One look at the man’s face, distorted by rage and hatred, told Decker that he was the one who had done most if not all of the killings.
If his brother was smart, he’d say no deal and let Decker blow this one away.
“What do you say, Brian?”
He gave the hidden man time to think it over and then prodded him again.
“I’m cocking the hammers on my shotgun.”
Shit!
Damn it!
Brian was incensed. It would serve Brent right if he let Decker blow his damn head off. What the hell was he thinking, charging blindly like that?
For a moment—for a single, fleeting moment— he was tempted to let Decker kill him.
And then the moment passed.
“All right!” Brian Foxx said. “All right. We’ll play it your way. You’re holding the deck.”
And it was stacked!
“Toss out your gun.”
The gun came arcing out.
“Have you got another one?”
“No.”
“All right, step out. If you have another gun, I’ll kill you both.”
Brian Foxx stepped out and Decker got a good look at him. Except for the fact that his color was good, he and his wounded brother were identical.
“What now?” Brian asked.
“Now you fellas are going to be a big help Tome,” Decker said, “a big help.”
Chapter XXXV
Decker marched both brothers outside, and they were surprised to see John Henry standing a distance away—with both of their horses.
“Listen, you can’t be serious about this,” Brent Foxx said.
“Which one are you?”
“I’m Brent.”
“I thought you knew,” Brian said.
“I took an educated guess at which one of you was Brian, but I didn’t know the other one’s name—and yes, Brent, I’m serious. I brought those women out here, and if they’ve been taken I intend to get them back.”
“You mean you really do have women out there?”
Decker nodded.
“A woman and a fourteen-year-old girl.”
“Jesus,” Brian said, shaking his head. Decker suddenly felt that perhaps this one—Brian—really was a decent man.
Who robbed banks.
Brent, on the other hand, was crazy, and very probably a killer.
“Check your brother’s wound,” Decker said to Brian. “We don’t want him bleeding to death.”
Brian opened Brent’s shirt, checked the wound, and buttoned him up again.
“It seems all right.”
“Good. Let’s get mounted up.”
“You can’t be serious,” Brent said again. “You don’t expect us to go up against who knows how many comancheros just because you lost your women?”
“No, you’re right, Brent, I don’t.”
“That’s more like—”
“I expect you to do it, or die. It’s a simple choice, really. Even a dimwit like you can make it.”
Brent Foxx’s eyes flared and again Decker saw the hint of madness there. He wondered if Brian Foxx knew about it.
“Make the choice.”
“We’ll live,” Brian said. “Come on, we’re wasting time. Who knows what those women are going through?”
He seemed genuinely concerned.
They mounted up and rode north until they started to smell coffee.
“Hold up,” Decker said. He was riding behind the brothers.
He stood in his saddle and sniffed the air. Coffee and bacon.
“I smell bacon, too,” Brian said. “Maybe your ladies made camp.”
“I don’t think so,” Decker said. “We ran out of bacon three nights ago. Let’s dismount.”
They did so, and then Decker told Brian, “Tie your brother up.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Sure it is,” Decker said. “Look at him, Foxx. The first chance he gets he’s going to jump me and try to kill me. I can’t afford that now.”
“Brian,” Brent said, “we can take him now. He won’t dare fire when we’re this close to the comanchero camp.”
Decker looked at Brian, waiting for him Tomake a move. Brian looked at the noose hanging from Decker’s saddle, and Decker couldn’t tell if it meant something to him or not.
Maybe Brian read dime novels, though, because he grabbed a rope from his saddle and tied his brother’s hands behind him.
“Don’t do this!” Brent screamed.
“We’re going to have to keep him quiet,” Decker said, and Brian nodded.
He gagged his brother, then tied his legs. His brother glared at him murderously. Decker felt that any man who would slit the throat of a helplessly trussed-up man deserved worse than what he was getting right now.
“Good. Now let’s go and take a look at what we’re up against.”
They crept as close to the camp as they could. It had been made at the bottom of a dry wash, so they were able to look down from some meager cover.
There were easily forty comancheros in camp, and they were milling about, waiting for the food to be ready. Their horses were picketed off to one side.
“See anything?” Decker asked.
“Not yet—wait. What’s that over there?”
Brian pointed and Decker looked in that direction.
“The girl,” Brian said.
Sure enough, it was Felicia. She had been tied hand and foot and was sitting near the campfire, where the cooking was being done. Every so often the man who was cooking—a fat Mexican—would reach over and pinch her as if he were testing her for cooking.
“Now where’s Rebecca?” Decker wondered aloud.
There was some commotion at the farthest end of the camp and both men looked that way. What they saw was a crowd of men who were looking down at the ground. As they moved about, what they were looking at finally came into view.
“Oh, Jesus,” Brian said.
They could see the naked ass of a man whose pants were down around his ankles. He was thrusting himself down onto someone at an increased pace, and it was obvious what was going on.
“Shit,” Decker said with feeling.
When Brian Foxx spoke, Decker was surprised at his words and at the genuine feeling that was behind them.
The bank robber even put his hand on Decker’s shoulder.