He had no doubt that this version of the tongueless daughter was the true one. But he wondered what sinister secrets of her own this woman harbored.
He gave her the description of Tolan and Rooney.
"Oh," she said, "those two."
"They're here?" He sounded eager, too eager.
"Upstairs. They got pretty drunk last night." Then: "What the Sam Hill is this?"
Marching through the front door, fanning out in military fashion, were six men carrying rifles. The leader was Gomez, the man who'd tried to pass himself off as the marshal of the town.
Gomez appeared to be much more sober than the last time Prine had seen him. He didn't wobble when he walked. And his gaze was fixed on the desk clerk as he stalked over to her, the barrel of his Winchester leading the way.
"There are two men here, Tolan and Rooney. Which room?"
She told them.
"They are there now?"
"As far as I know they are, Gomez."
"My name is Deputy Gomez. This would be a healthy thing for you to remember, señora." The woman looked about to laugh, but then stopped herself. "All right, Deputy Gomez, if that's the way you prefer it. Just remember, Marshal Valdez always gives me a little bit of the cut."
Gomez glanced at Prine and then back at the woman: "This so-called cut, I have no idea of what you're saying. We run this law and order here. We do not have 'cuts.' Cuts are for criminals and lawmen who do not honor their laws." This seemed to be for Prine's benefit, this profoundly moving and convincing speech on law and order. Prine was surprised that Gomez didn't choke on words as hypocritical as these.
Gomez angled his head to his men. "Let's go." To the desk clerk: "Do not try to warn them in any way, señora, as that would be bad for the health of your entire family."
Prine watched all the men but one go up the staircase. The lone man detached himself at the last moment and hurried down a long, narrow hall to the back. He'd cover the door opening on the alley.
"Looks like your friend Valdez beat you to it," the woman said.
"He's arresting them?" Prine said.
"In a way." A smile old and weary. "He obviously thinks they have money. He never arrest anybody who doesn't. He'll put them in a jail and then the local judge will set bail for some exorbitant price—which means any amount they can find on the men and in their room—and then the men will agree to pay this 'bail.' Then Valdez will give them half an hour to get out of town. If they try and come back, his men are told to kill them on sight."
"Bastard."
"You're right about that. Look what he did to his wife and daughter."
"There's never been a state official to look into all this?"
"What would they look into? The judge has a good standing with the state court and he's free to set any bail he wants. If the men go to court in his jurisdiction, they'll be found guilty because Valdez and the judge will have planted evidence that proves their guilt. So they won't take the chance of going to court. They just ride off and never come back here."
Prine explained about the kidnapping. "Valdez is going to be disappointed. He seems to think they have the ransom money. But they didn't get any. Those two probably don't have the price of a meal between them."
Shouts. A single gunshot. Thuds. And then the shouts were much louder, the men out of the room and into the hallway now.
Tolan made a dramatic entrance. Somebody threw him down the stairs. He landed, badly bleeding head and all, on the floor directly across from Prine.
Rooney came down in handcuffs. There wasn't any blood, just looks of confusion and fear as Gomez kept jamming the barrel of his rifle into Rooney's back.
Tolan was grabbed and put on his feet and shoved across the open expanse in front of the door. Then he was pushed outside. Rooney, saying nothing, was shoved out right behind him.
By now, the hotel lobby was filled with drummers. There was an air of a convention about it, most of them holding brews from the hotel saloon and commenting with jokes and smirks about the two loudmouths who'd disrupted the air of camaraderie that normally existed in the hotel saloon. Last night apparently, Tolan had taken the liberty of moving several noses over a few inches.
Prine pushed his way through the crowd and left the hotel.
He found Neville on the sidewalk across from the sheriff's office. The time was pushing on toward noon. Vehicle traffic was steady. In the distance between the hotel and the jail you could see small groups of people who'd stood watching Tolan and Rooney being dragged off to imprisonment. It wasn't quite as good as a Fourth of July parade, but what the hell. It was better than watching wagons passing by and various horses and mules dropping road apples for the gourmet tastes of the local fly population.
"They just went inside," Nevill said.
"Took them from the Empire Hotel."
"I wish I'd had a rifle. I could've taken care of them right now. Well, maybe on the trip back. I hate to see a man in handcuffs, but I'll make an exception in their case."
"I'm not sure it's going to be that easy to get them away from Valdez."
Neville sounded surprised. "Why the hell not? They killed my sister. You're a sworn deputy. Why the hell not? They killed my sister. You're a sworn deputy. Why the hell shouldn't we take them back? I'll tell you, Prine, I don't plan to take any shit from Valdez."
"We may have to."
"And why's that exactly?"
"Because," Prine said, "he's the local law and he's got the prisoners. We'll just have to go see him and see how this plays out."
"What the hell ever happened to law and order?"
Prine smiled. "A lot of people've been asking that question lately." He shrugged. "May as well get some lunch."
"Lunch? Let's go talk to Valdez."
"He'll want to talk to Tolan and Rooney first. Figure out what he wants to do with them."
"This doesn't make any sense. They're killers."
"C'mon. We could both use some grub."
Neville ate more than Prine would have imagined. A steak, two baked potatoes, two helpings of peas, and a large slice of pumpkin pie. Prine had the steak and a piece of bread and no pie. Despite his youth, he was getting a little puffy in the belly. He wanted to be ready when he got rich and famous. No reason a millionaire shouldn't look strong and slim. Of course, he wasn't exactly sure when that millionaire day would roll around. It seemed to be on a calendar that wouldn't be printed for a long, long time.
"So we go in and just take them," Neville said.
"He's the law, as I said. And he's got us outgunned."
"Then we threaten him."
"With what?"
"With my money and my status. I'm an important man. I know that sounds like hell, but it's true. I want my sister's killers, and I'll use everything at hand to get them."
Prine had been going to say this. Now seemed an appropriate time. "If and when we get them, I'm in charge. And there won't be any killing. We take them back alive."
"A lot of things can happen n the trail."
"A lot of things," Prine said, "better not happen on the trail."
"I thought we were on the same side."
"We are. As long as you remember that I'm the law. And I don't mean the Valdez kind of law, either. I mean the Wyn Daly kind of law."
Neville smiled. It wasn't a pleasant smile. "I guess you aren't aware of all the favors Daly does for my crowd."
"I'm aware."
"And you still think he's such a great lawman."
"I didn't say he was great. I said he followed the law. Ninety-five percent of the time, anyway."
That smile again. Neville had reverted to the man Prine had met at the recital the other night. Arrogant, superior. "He follows the law unless you're rich. And then he follows the money and the gifts and the invitations to all the gentry parties."