“I’m becoming a bit weary of all this,” Davidson suddenly announced, breaking his pose. The afternoon of the sixth day.
“Of what, sir?” Smoke lifted his eyes, meeting the hard gaze of the man.
“Of posing, fool!” Davidson said sharply. “I have enough pictures. But as for you, I don’t know what to do about you.”
“Whatever in the world are you talking about, Mr. Davidson?”
Rex stared at him for a long moment. Then, rising from the stool where he’d been sitting, posing, he walked to a window and looked out, staring down at his outlaw town. He turned and said, “I first thought it was you; that you were the front man, the spy sent in here. Then I realized that no one except a professional actor could play the part of a fool as convincingly as you’ve done…and no actor has that much courage. Not to come in here and lay his life on the line. So you are what you claim to be. A silly fop. But I still don’t know what to do with you. I do know that you are beginning to bore me. It was the Indian. Had to be. The marshals hired the Indian to come in here and check on us.”
“Sir, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But Smoke knew. Somewhere in the ranks of the marshals or the sheriffs or the deputies, there was a turncoat. Now he had to find out just how much Rex Davidson knew about the plan just twenty-four hours away from bloody reality.
And stay alive long enough to do something about it, if he could.
“That damn woman almost had me fooled,” Davidson said, more to himself than to Smoke. He had turned his back again, not paying any attention to Smoke. “It was good fun torturing her, DeBeers; I wish you had been here to see it. Yes, indeed. I outdid myself with inventiveness. I kept her alive for a long time. I finally broke her, of course. But by the time I did, she was no more than a broken, babbling idiot. The only thing we learned was that the marshals were planning on coming in here at some time or the other. She didn’t know when.”
“Sir, I—”
Davidson whirled around, his face hard with anger. “Shut your goddamn mouth, DeBeers!” He shouted. “And never interrupt me when I’m speaking.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Of course, she was raped—among other things. The men enjoyed taking their perversions upon her.” He was pacing the room. “Repeatedly. I enjoyed listening to her beg for mercy. Dagget can be quite inventive, too. But finally I wearied of it, just as I am rapidly wearying of you, DeBeers. You’re really a Milquetoast, Shirley. I think I’ll put you in a dress and parade you around. Yes. That is a thought.”
Smoke kept his mouth shut.
Davidson turned back to the window, gazing out over his town of scum and filth and perversion. “I have not left this place in years. I stay aware of what is going on outside, of course. But I have not left this valley in years. It’s mine, and no one is going to take it from me. I will not permit it. I know an attack is coming. But I don’t know when.”
Smoke knew then why the sudden influx of outlaws. Somehow, probably through outriders, Davidson had gotten the word out to them: If you want to save your refuge, you’d better be prepared to fight for it.
Or something like that.
With King Rex, however, it had probably been put in a much more flowery way.
“Ah, sir, Your Majesty?” Smoke verbally groveled, something he was getting weary of.
“What do you want, Shirley?”
“May I take my leave now, Your Magesty?”
“Yes, you silly twit!” Davidson did not turn from the window. “And stay out of my sight, goofy. I haven’t made up my mind exactly what I’m going to do with you. Get out, fool!”
I’ve made up my mind what to do with you, King Rex, Smoke thought, on his way out. And about this time tomorrow, you’re going to be in for a very large surprise. One that I’m going to enjoy handing you.
He gently closed the door behind him. He was smiling as he walked down the hill from the King’s house. He had to work to get the smile off his lips before he entered the long main street of Dead River.
In twenty-four hours, he would finally and forever shed his foppish costume and strap on his guns.
And then Dr. Jenson would begin administering to a very sick town.
With gunsmoke and lead.
Smoke was conscious of York staring at him. He had been sliding furtive glances his way for several hours now, and Smoke knew the reason for the looks. He could feel the change coming over him. He would have to be very careful the remainder of this day, for he was in no mood to continue much longer with his Shirley DeBeers act.
York had just returned from town and had been unusually quiet since getting back. He finally broke his silence.
“DeBeers?”
“Yes, York?”
“I gotta tell you. The word is out that come the morning, you’re gonna be tossed to the wolves. Davidson is gonna declare you fair game for anybody. And you know what that means.”
Mid-afternoon of the seventh day.
“Brute Pitman.”
“Among other things,” York said.
“What size boots do you wear, York?”
“Huh! Man, didn’t you hear me? We got to get the hell gone from this place. And I mean we got to plan on how to do it right now!”
“I heard you, York. Just relax. What size boots do you wear?”
The cowboy signed. “Ten.”
“That’s my size. How about that?” Smoke grinned at him.
“Wonderful!” The comment was dryly given. “You lookin’ at gettin’ kilt, and you all het up about us wearin’ the same size boots. You weird, DeBeers.”
With a laugh, Smoke handed York some money. “Go to the store and buy me a good pair of boots. Black. Get me some spurs. Small stars, not the big California rowels. Don’t say a word about who you’re buying them for. We’ll let that come as a surprise for them. Think you can do that for me, York?”
“Why, hell, yes, I can! What do you think I am, some sort of dummy? Boots? ’Kay. But I best get you some walkin’ heels.”
“Riding heels, York,” Smoke corrected, enjoying the look of bewilderment on his new friend’s face. “And how many boxes of shells do you have?”
“One and what’s in my belt. Now why in the hell are you askin’ that?”
“Buy at least three more boxes. When you get back, I’ll explain. Now then, what else have you heard about me, York?”
“You ain’t gonna like it.”
“Oh, I don’t know. It might give me more incentive to better do the job that faces me.”
York shook his head. “Weird, DeBeers. That’s you. Well, that Jake feller? He’s been makin’ his brags about how he’s gonna make you hunker down in the street and eat a pile of horse-droppin’s.”
“Oh, is he now?”
“Yeah. He likes to be-little folks. That Jake, he’s cruel mean, DeBeers. That one and them that run with him is just plain no-good. He makes ever’ slave that comes in here do that. I’ve had half a dozen or more men tell me that. All the men here, they think it’s funny watchin’ Jake force folks to eat that mess.”
“I wonder how Jake would like to eat a poke of it himself?”
York grinned. “Now that’d be a sight to see!”
“Don’t give up hope, York. Would you please go get my stuff for me?”
“Sure.” He turned, then stopped and whirled around to face Smoke. “I can’t figure you, DeBeers. You’ve changed. I noticed that this morning.”