Over a cup of coffee, Rochenbach listened as Casings spoke in a guarded voice, despite the fact that they were still seven miles out of Grolin’s hearing range.
“See, we knew Edmund Bell was in bad shape the last time we were there,” he said. “We had no doubt he’d be dead by the time we went back.”
“But you didn’t tell Grolin,” Rock interjected.
“No, we didn’t tell him,” said Casings. “I know we should have.” He hung his head for a moment. “Looking back, I wish we had.”
Rochenbach studied him closely.
“How much did you collect?” he asked flatly.
“Huh?” Casings looked surprised; so did Spiller, who had recovered some over a cup of strong coffee.
“The last time you were there. How much did you two collect?” said Rock. “Don’t take me for a fool, Pres,” he cautioned the gunman. “We can talk it out here, or back at the Lucky Nut with Grolin, whichever suits you.”
Casings rubbed his face and shook his head.
“Jesus…,” he said. “All right, we collected close to forty dollars last time.”
“But you told Grolin you didn’t collect anything,” Rock said.
Casings just stared at him.
“Damn it, Casings, don’t tell him,” Spiller ordered, firelight flickering in his eyes.
“He’s already figured it out,” Casings said. “No, we didn’t tell Grolin,” he said to Rochenbach. “We figured ol’ Edmund would be dead in a week, the kid and his woman would be cleared out and nobody would ever know.” He gave a shrug. “Hell, Grolin is going to get the place for what’s left owed against it anyway.”
“Damn it to hell, Pres,” said Spiller. “Shut up!”
Ignoring Spiller, Rochenbach said to Casings, “But Grolin wanted you two to check me out, so he sent you out earlier than anybody expected.”
“Yeah,” said Casings, also ignoring Spiller. “If he hears we held out on him, we’re dead, Rock.”
“I can see how he might want to kill you both,” Rock said. “Especially when he figures it’s not the first time you shorted him.”
“No, it is the first time,” said Casings. “I swear it is.”
Rock smiled and looked back and forth between the two gunmen.
“See,” he said, “I don’t believe you myself, and it’s not even my money we’re talking about. Imagine what Grolin will think if he ever gets wind of it.”
“Who’s going to tell him?” Spiller asked menacingly, setting his tin cup down beside him and turning toward Rock from where he sat in the dirt. His hand rested on the butt of his holstered pistol.
Rochenbach slid his Remington from his belly holster and pointed its barrel straight up, gleaming in the flickering firelight.
“You don’t want to be making threats,” he said, “sitting there with your head split—didn’t even check your gun to see if I unloaded it while you were knocked out.” He held a piercing gaze on Spiller.
Without looking away from Rock, Spiller swallowed a knot in his throat.
“Did he fool around with my gun, Pres?” he asked, his head still pounding like a drum.
“How the hell do I know, Dent?” Casings said. “The man’s kicked your nuts into your windpipe and cracked your head open. Why don’t you quit acting tough and listen to what he’s got to say?”
Spiller stared at Rochenbach with the same question burning in his red, pain-filled eyes.
“Nobody knows but me, Spiller,” Rochenbach said in a dead-serious tone. His thumb cocked the big Remington standing beside his face. “You’ve got two choices. Either take your hand away from your Colt or bring it up—show us how much faith you have in yourself.”
A tense moment passed until Spiller growled a curse under his breath and his hand slipped away from the Colt, eased back to the tin coffee cup and picked it up.
Rochenbach lowered the hammer on the big Remington and brought the gun down across his lap.
“Now back to who’s going to tell Grolin,” he said. “That would be me telling him, because I came out and collected the money. For all I know, Grolin could have told you to convince me you’ve been pocketing money, just to see whether or not he can trust me.”
“It’s not, Rock. I swear to God, it’s not!” Pres Casings said. “We’ve had this little thing going on for a while, nothing big, just drinking money now and then.”
“Damn it, Pres,” said Spiller, “you’re emptying your guts to him! He’s got no reason to trust us. We’ve got even less reason to trust him.”
“One of us has to bend a little,” said Casings. He looked back at Rochenbach. So did Spiller.
Rochenbach sipped his coffee, considering it.
“All right,” he said. “It looks like I’m the one who has to stick my neck out. The only way you two can trust me is to make me an accomplice.” He patted the eighty dollars folded inside the lapel pocket of his wool coat. “If I don’t turn this money in, and we all three tell Grolin that Edmund Bell is dead and his place was empty, I’m in with you up to my neck.” He looked back and forth again. “If you’re lying, we’re all three dead.”
They looked at each other, then back at Rochenbach.
“Because I’ll kill you both while Grolin puts a bullet in my head,” Rochenbach said.
“We’re not lying, Rock,” Pres Casings repeated, both outlaws looking relieved. “And you’re in on our scheme from now on. Whatever we get, you get a third. Three-way partners. Right, Dent?” he said sidelong to Spiller.
But Spiller didn’t reply. He continued to stare coldly at Rochenbach.
Rock still looked leery of them as he held his tin coffee cup in his gloved hand, ready to take another sip as if doing so would seal a pact among them. This was what he needed, a toehold into Grolin’s operation.
“That’s you talking,” Rock said to Casings. “I haven’t heard anything from your sporting friend here.”
“What did you call me?” Spiller said in a dark tone.
Rochenbach just stared at him and finished his coffee.
“Dent, damn it, come on,” said Casings. “I’m trying to work this thing out! Give me some help here.”
Spiller simmered and settled, his head pounding, his crotch aching. He hadn’t forgotten that Rochenbach was the source of his misery. But he let out a breath.
“Okay! From now on we’re all three partners in our collecting scheme,” he said.
“All right, then, we’re all three agreed,” Casings said. He also let out a breath and turned to Rochenbach. “Now that all that’s settled, let’s split the eighty dollars and get on back to town.”
“I don’t think so,” Rochenbach said, standing up, the Remington still hanging in one hand. He slung the grounds from his coffee cup and rubbed out the fire with the side of his new boot.
“What do you mean?” Casings said in surprise. “I thought we just agreed we’re partners.”
“We did just agree,” Rochenbach said. “But we hadn’t agreed to it when I collected the money.” Firelight flickered in his eyes. “Anyway, I’m the new man here. I’ve got some catching up to do.”
Chapter 5
It was long after midnight when the three rode onto the street leading to the Great Westerner Hotel and the Lucky Nut Saloon. Spiller rode slumped in his saddle a few feet in front of Casings and Rochenbach. He looked up in time to see the weathered, one-horse buggy sitting out in front of the hotel; the edge of its usually tall canvas top was lined with dangling fringe-work. The sight of the buggy caused him to jerk his horse to a halt and turn toward Casings behind him.
“Look who’s here, Pres,” he said in a low voice.
“Yeah, I see it,” Casings said, slowing his horse.