“Whorehouse, I think.”
“Get ’im.”
“Interrupt him?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Um, he won’t like it, boss.”
“You tell him I sent you,” Graves said. “If he kills you, I’ll make sure he apologizes.”
“Um . . . sure.” Holt swallowed hard, then left the saloon to find Dudley Graves.
Dudley Graves was enjoying two women in the whorehouse when there was a timid knock on the door of the room.
“What the hell—” he said.
The two girls—a skinny redhead and an older, heavier brunette—rolled away from him. They knew what happened when Dudley got mad. He swung at whatever or whoever was closest to him.
Dudley got to his feet and lumbered to the door. He was naked, his sloppy belly hanging down so that it almost hid his rigid penis. He grabbed his gun from the foot of the bed on the way. When he opened the door, he pointed the gun.
“Jeez, Dudley!” Sammy Holt said.
“Gimme one good reason why I shouldn’t blow your head off!” Dudley said.
“Frank sent me to get you.”
“He know where I am?”
“Yeah, he does.”
“Then he knows what I’m doin’.”
“Yes.”
“And he still sent you to interrupt me?”
“Um, y-yeah.”
Dudley lowered the gun.
“Must be important, then.”
He turned from the door, walked to the bed, and started getting dressed.
Standing in the doorway, Holt wanted to avert his eyes rather than look at Dudley’s sloppy nakedness. But there were also two naked women in the room. So he stared at them. They smiled and made faces at him.
Dressed, Dudley buckled his gun belt and holstered his gun, then looked at the girls on the bed.
“Sorry, gals, no Dudley today.”
The girls contrived to look disappointed, even though they were glad they weren’t going to have to service the big man.
“What about him?” the redhead asked, pointing at Sammy Holt.
“Him? He ain’t never had a woman before,” Dudley said. He looked at Holt. “You ever been with a woman, boy?”
“S-Sure.”
“You lie!” Dudley said. He looked at the girls again. “He’s a virgin. What would you want with him?”
“We could teach him a thing or two,” the brunette said.
“You paid for our time already,” the redhead said.
“Well, that’s true,” Dudley said. “And I wouldn’t want you to be totally disappointed.” He looked at Holt again. “Whataya say, boy? You want two girls?”
“Um . . .” Holt said nervously.
Dudley grabbed him by the front of the shirt and pulled him into the room.
“He’s all yours, girls,” he said. “Do what you want with him.”
“Dud—” Holt started.
“My brother say he wanted to see you, or me?” Dudley asked.
“Well, you—”
“Be gentle with him, girls,” Dudley said. “Boy, you’re in for a treat, and it’s on me.”
Dudley left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Holt turned and looked at the two naked girls. The redhead had small breasts, but her nipples were very large. On the other hand, the brunette had chubby breasts with small, brown nipples. Staring at Holt, she spread her legs and ran her fingers through her dark pubic hair. When he looked at the redhead again, she was stroking herself, making herself wet. He could smell her.
“Um, I’m, uh, not like Dudley,” he told them.
“That’s good,” the redhead said.
“He’s awful,” the brunette said.
“A brute.”
“And he smells,” the brunette added.
“And he’s no good in bed,” the redhead said. “He thinks he is, but he’s not. And he’s . . . small.”
“What? He’s a huge man.”
The girls laughed.
“Not where it counts,” the redhead said.
“Oooh, look at his pants,” the brunette said. “How about takin’ off your clothes, boy?”
“I ain’t a boy,” Holt said.
“What’s your name?” the redhead asked. She was closer to his age.
“Sammy.”
“I’m Belinda,” she said, “this is Mary. Take off your pants, Sammy. They’re gettin’ tight.”
“Look,” he said, “I never, I mean, I ain’t ever—”
“Don’t worry,” the brunette said, getting off the bed, “we’ll take care of it.”
“We’ll take care of everythin’,” Belinda said.
She got off the bed and together the two girls undressed Holt until he was standing there naked. He tried to cover his crotch with his hands, but they pushed his hands away.
“Don’t cover that up, Sammy,” Mary said.
“Oh, my,” Belinda said. “That’s impressive.”
“Really?” Holt stopped trying to cover his erection.
“It’s pretty,” Belinda said, touching him lightly. He jumped from her touch.
“Mmm, and he’s clean,” Belinda said, “and he has nice young skin.”
Mary kissed his belly, ran her hands around behind him to stroke his buttocks.
Belinda began to stoke his penis with one hand, then leaned forward and kissed the tip. Sammy Holt gasped.
“This is gonna be fun,” Belinda told Mary.
From behind Holt, her hands still on his ass, Mary peeked around at Belinda and said, “It sure is.”
She reached up between his legs and cupped his sack while Belinda suddenly took his penis into her mouth.
“Jesus!” Holt gasped.
NINETEEN
Dudley Graves entered the saloon, spotted his brother sitting with half a beer. He went to the bar, got two more, and carried them to the table.
“How’s the leg?” he asked, pushing a fresh beer across the table.
“Awful. Where’s the kid?”
“I left him with the whores,” Dudley said.
“What for?”
“Make a man out of him.”
“Where are the others?”
“Around town.”
“Come on, Dudley.”
“We got two cousins playin’ poker, one shootin’ pool, one playin’ horseshoes. We got one brother sleepin’, one playin’ poker, and Del is . . . well, I don’t know where Del is.”
“And the rest of the men?”
“I don’t keep such good track of the nonrelatives,” Dudley said. “Except Sammy.”
“And he’s with your whores.”
“That’s right.”
“Ain’t like you to share your women, Dud,” Frank said.
“Hell, I paid for ’em already.”
“You coulda got your money back.”
Dudley stared a moment, then said, “I never thought of that.”
Frank finished his beer and started on the fresh one his brother had brought him.
“What’d you wanna see me about?”
“I wanna go and take care of Guardian.”
“Where?”
“Stupid,” Frank said, “the town where we shot the sheriff.”
“And he shot you,” Dudley said. “And killed Mack.”
Mack Reynolds had been riding with them, and the sheriff in Guardian had not only shot Frank in the leg, but killed Mack.
“We gotta go back there, get our money outta that bank, and take care of that town,” Frank said.
“So when do we go?” Dudley asked. “You can’t ride with that leg yet.”
“It’s getting’ better,” Frank said. “It’ll be healed soon.”
“Still be stiff, though.”
“That don’t matter,” Frank said. “Once I know that ridin’ a horse won’t make me bleed to death, we’re goin’ back there.”
“They might have a new lawman by now.”
“It don’t matter,” Frank said. “If they do have a new sheriff, then he’ll have to pay for what the old one did.”
“Suits me,” Dudley said. “Nothin’ I like more than killin’ lawmen.”
“I’ll need you to round up Del, Hap, and Clell,” Frank said, speaking of their brothers, “and the cousins. Let them know what we’re plannin’ on doin’.”
“When do ya want me to do that?”
“Today.”
“So soon? You ain’t gonna be ready for a while yet—” Dudley started to argue, but Frank cut him off.
“I don’t want anybody makin’ any other plans,” he said. “I want them all to know what we’re plannin’.”
“You know,” Dudley said, “as the older brother, I should probably be the one doin’ the plannin’.”
“You’re right, Dudley,” Frank said, “you are the older brother. But I’m the smarter one, so I’m makin’ the decisions.”
Dudley fell silent for a few moments, then said, “Well, you don’t mind if I finish my beer first, do ya?”
TWENTY
At the end of one week Clint had convinced Minnesota to join him and Buck, but the young man wanted a badge.
“You can hire everybody else for a dollar a day,” he said, “but I wanna be a deputy, with a deputy’s pay.”
“Ain’t much better,” Buck had told him.
“It’s a status thing,” Minnesota said with a smile.
Clint agreed and made Minnesota a deputy.
Also at the end of that time they knew that Jack Harper had had his surgery, and had come through alive. What they didn’t know was if he would walk again. Doc Foster’s telegram said it would take some time after the surgery before they knew.
“Will keep you informed,” the telegram ended.
Clint checked with the telegraph office each day at ten, when they had been open an hour.
Clint entered the sheriff’s office, found both deputies there, drinking coffee.
“No word, today?” Buck asked.
“No.”
He walked to the stove and poured himself some coffee, then turned and walked to the desk.
“When are we gonna get some more men?” Minnesota asked.
Clint looked at Buck.
“I got a couple of suggestions, but that’s it,” the deputy said.
“What about you, Minnesota?” Clint asked. “You know anybody?”
Minnesota shrugged.
“I don’t know too many men in town, and the ones I do wouldn’t help us. And I mean, even if they were willin’, they wouldn’t be any help.”
“Well,” Clint said, “nobody said all the help had to come from town.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that before?” Minnesota asked him.
“It makes a difference?” Clint asked.
“Hell, it makes a big difference. I know a couple of good boys, but they’re in a town called Sensible.”
“What?” Buck asked.
“Yeah,” Minnesota said, “the town is actually called Sensible.”
“Why not?” Clint said to Buck. “I know two other towns called Normal and Peculiar.” He looked at Minnesota. “Is there a telegraph there?”
“No,” Minnesota said. “If you want them, you’ll have to go and get them.”
Clint stood up.
“Then let’s go ask them.”
“What about the Graves gang?” Minnesota asked. “They might show up while we’re gone.”
“How far is Sensible?”
“Half a day.”
“Graves isn’t going to come back until he heals,” Clint said. “Harper said he hit him in the leg. He also has to round up the rest of his family. I think we can spare one more day.”
“What about me?” Buck asked.
“You stay here, Buck. We’ll be back sometime after midnight. Talk to your boys and see if you can get them interested.”
“We gonna ride at night?” Minnesota asked.
“We are,” Clint said. “I only want to be gone one day.”
“Well, then, we better get goin’,” Minnesota said.
As they went out the front door, Clint called back to Buck, “Hold the fort!”
TWENTY-ONE
Half a day’s ride brought them into the town of Sensible by dark. They left their horses in the livery but told the liveryman not to bed them down. Then they walked down the main street—one of two streets the town had.
“Small place,” Clint said. “What are your friends doing here?”
“Just laying low.”
“Who are these guys?”
“Their names are Wilkes and Commons,” Minnesota said.
“First names or last names?”
“Only names.”
“Like Minnesota?”
“Exactly.”
“Where’d you get that name anyway?”
“What’s wrong with it?” Minnesota said. “I like the name.”
“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Clint said. “It’s just a little . . . unusual.”
“I picked it myself,” Minnesota said.
“What was your name before that?”
Minnesota looked at Clint.
“If I wanted anybody to know that, I wouldn’ta picked a new name, would I?”
“Okay,” Clint said. “Okay.”
They walked up to the only saloon Clint could see.
“If they’re still here,” Minnesota said, “they’ll be in there.”
“You mean we rode all the way here and they might not be here?”
Minnesota shrugged.
“They might already have a job.”
“What do they hire out to do?” Clint asked.
“Anything they can.”
They entered the saloon, found it quiet, almost empty. No girls, no gaming tables. Almost no customers, except for two men sitting at separate tables.
“That’s them,” Minnesota said.
“Sitting at separate tables?”
Minnesota shrugged.
“They don’t like each other.”
“But they work together?”
“They work together real well,” Minnesota said, “but they don’t like each other. I can’t figure it out, but it works for them.”
“So what do we do?”
“We talk to them, one at a time,” Minnesota said.
“Okay.”
Clint started forward, but Minnesota put out his hand to stop him.
“Gotta buy them a beer.”
Clint walked to the bar, bought three beers, and handed one to Minnesota.
“Okay,” the smaller man said.
They approached the man sitting to their left, leaving the man on the right for later.
“Hey, Wilkes,” Minnesota said.
The man looked up at them. He had a face that looked as if it had spent more than a few rounds in the ring. A scar split his left eyebrow right in half. His shoulders were broad, his arms thick with muscle. He looked around thirty-five.