For a moment McCall considered just holing up in his room until sunup and then riding out, but he balked at that. For one thing, he was hungry and thirsty, and he wanted a bath.
Fuck ’em, he thought. If they want to take their chance, let ’em. He wasn’t going to let some two-horse town with the willies make him dig a hole like some desert critter.
He pulled his boots back on and went looking for his comforts.
Weeks and Butler watched the deputy leave the hotel and hurry off down the street.
“Whataya think?” Butler asked.
“McCall just rode into town, right?” Weeks asked. “What’s he gonna want?”
“A drink?” Butler said. “A meal?”
“Both,” Weeks said, “and maybe a woman, too. Two of those three things he can get from the saloon.” “We just come from the saloon.”
“I know,” Weeks said, “and we’re goin’ back there to wait for McCall to show up.”
“What if he don’t?”
“He will,” Weeks said. “He’s definitely gonna want adrink, and when he comes to get it, we’ll be waiting. Come on.”
McCall watched the two men from his window for a few moments after the deputy left. He wanted to know whether or not they’d be there when he went back out.
He was about to leave when he saw them start to walk away. He kept an eye on them until they were out of sight.
Maybe they wouldn’t be right outside when he left the building, but he had a feeling he’d be seeing them again, very soon.
He left the room to arrange for a bath.
After Collins told the sheriff what McCall had told him, Keller left his office and went to find Wexler at the telegraph office again.
“McCall’s in the hotel,” Keller said. The other choice for a place to stay might have been Mrs. McCavity’s rooming house, at the other end of town. “Now that you know where he’s staying you can take him his message.”
“I can’t do it, Sheriff,” Wexler said, his voice shaking.
“That kind of news—you’re gonna have to take it to him.”
Keller frowned at the younger man, then admitted to himself that the other man was right. He was the sheriff and it was his damned job to go and talk to McCall, no matter what the consequences might be.
It was the only time in nine years he didn’t relish being sheriff of Corozon.
“All right, Clyde,” he said, extending his hand, “give me the damned telegram.”
Keller stuffed the piece of paper into his breast pocket, the one nearest his badge. He wanted to make sure that McCall saw the star when he took the telegram out again.
Chapter Two
McCall was in the bathtub on the first floor, his gun hanging on the back of a chair that he had placed within reach. On the chair was a towel and his fresh clothes. He had a cigar in his mouth, and a bar of soap in his hands. He was lathered up good and proper when there was a knock at the door. Immediately he shifted the soap to his left hand and rinsed off the right as best he could.
“Come in,” he said around the cigar.
The door opened and a fat man entered. The first thing he noticed was that the man was fast, but right after that he noticed the badge on the man’s chest.
“Sheriff,” he said, by way of greeting.
The sheriff opened his mouth to speak, cleared his throat, and tried again.
“McCall.”
McCall once again started washing himself.
“You the one spread the word around town that I was comin’ to town?”
“I, uh, knew about it, yeah.”
“You mind tellin’ me how you knew I was comin’ here when I didn’t even know?”
“Uh, we got this a few days ago,” the man said.
“Got what?”
The sheriff came forward slowly, removing a slip of paper from his shirt pocket. He held it out to McCall, but had to come even closer before the other man could reach it.
“What is it?” McCall asked, drying his right hand on the towel.
“A telegram.”
“For me?”
“Yes, sir.”
Curious. Not only did someone know he was coming, but they had sent him a telegram before he’d even gotten there.
“Could you unfold it for me, please?”
“Huh? Oh, sure.”
Keller unfolded the paper and handed it to McCall that way. McCall held it in one hand and looked at the sheriff.
“Who’s read this?”
“Oh, uh, me and the telegraph operator.”
“No one else?”
“No, sir.”
McCall nodded and then read the telegram.
Keller nervously watched the reaction on McCall’s face.
It wasn’t every day that a man got a telegram telling him that both of his parents were dead, and Keller didn’t know how a man like Sam McCall would react to news like that. He’d never even thought about a man like Sam McCall—a man with his reputation—even having parents!
So he watched his face closely, but from McCall’s expression you couldn’t tell what kind of news he was getting.
McCall took a long time, reading the telegram, reading it a second and third time, keeping his emotions off his face. Actually, he didn’t know what his emotions were. He hadn’t seen his parents in, what, seven years? Maybe more. Learning that they were dead should have affected him somehow. Shock? Sorrow?
Or was Sam McCall beyond those and any other emotions, after living the kind of life he’d been living all these years?
McCall put the telegram down on the chair and continued to soap himself.
“Anythin’ else, Sheriff?”
“Uh, no, sir,” Keller said. “I mean—uh, how long will you be stayin’ in town, Mr. McCall?”
“Just long enough to get a drink, some food, and a good night’s sleep. I’ll be headin’ out in the mornin’.”
“Well, good. I mean—”
“I know what you mean, Sheriff,” McCall said. “I told your deputy I’m not looking for trouble, and I’m not.”
The sheriff nodded, tried to think of something else to say, and then started backing out of the room.
As the man reached the door and turned to leave, McCall called out, “Sheriff!” making the fat man jump.
“Yessir?” Keller didn’t turn, he just hunched his shoulders and waited.
“Much obliged for the telegram.”
Keller let out the breath he was holding and said, “Sure, Mr. McCall, sure,” and hurriedly left.
When McCall was finished with his bath he went back to his room and read the telegram again. Still unsure about how he felt, he knew one thing: when a man’s family is killed, he ought to do something about it. He figured he should find his two brothers, Evan and Jubal, head on back home to Vengeance Creek, and find out just what the hell happened.
He looked at the telegram again and saw that it had been sent by Dude Miller. He remembered Dude well, a friend of his father’s who ran a business in the town of Vengeance Creek.
He was going to have to ask Dude how he knew where to find him, but of course, that question would take a back seat to the obvious question.
How had his parents been killed?
He decided that in the morning he would leave the sheriff an answer to the telegram, to have the key operatorsend when he opened the office. That way he could get an early start and not have to worry about letting Dude know that he and the boys were coming.
He folded up the telegram and put it in his breast pocket. Now that he was bathed and dressed in fresh clothes, his stomach and throat were demanding their satisfaction.
He left the room in search of a meal and a drink.
When Keller got back to his office he found Bob Collins and Clyde Wexler waiting there.
“Well?” Collins asked.
“Well, what?” Keller asked. He walked nonchalantly to his desk and sat down. He’d just faced Sam McCall, given him bad news, and left without a scratch. He was feeling mighty fine.