Matt said.
“Bad don’t even begin to describe ’em.” Flagg shook his head. “And maybe the worst part of it is, Shade used to be a man o’ God.”
“A preacher?” Matt asked, his eyebrows lifting in surprise.
“That’s right. He had the callin’ and preached for a while before he turned bad. In fact, I hear tell that when his gang is terrorizin’ a town, he still claims to be doin’ the Lord’s work. Says he has to smite folks and take ever’thing they own so they’ll stop worryin’ about the things o’ this world and start worryin’ about the next.”
“And while he’s saying that he’s allowing his men to rape and kill and loot?” Sam asked in amazement.
“Yep. Hell of a note, ain’t it?”
Matt downed some of his beer. “I can see why you say the hombre’s loco. But you can take my word for it when I tell you that Sam and I don’t have anything to do with him.”
“Oh, I know that now,” Flagg said with a wave of his hand. “I’ve heard plenty about you two young fellas, but I never heard anybody say that Bodine and Two Wolves are owlhoots.” He emptied his mug down his bearded throat and thumped it back on the table. “These beers are on me, boys. Enjoy your stay in Arrowhead.”
“We’re obliged,” Sam said.
Flagg scraped his chair back and stood up. “My office is down the street. Stop by and visit for a spell any time you’re of a mind to.”
“We’ll do that,” Matt promised.
When the sheriff was gone, the blood brothers looked at each other across the table.
“I was afraid he was going to ask us to sign on as deputies,” Sam said.
Matt nodded. “So was I. And I’ve had enough of wearin’ a badge for a while. That stint as unofficial deputies in Sweet Apple was plenty to suit me.”
“I agree.” Sam smiled faintly. “Don’t look now, but Amelia is coming back.”
The blonde was headed toward their table. Matt smiled and said, “I always enjoy the company of an attractive young woman.”
Amelia moved right past him, though, to stand next to Sam and rest a hand on his buckskin-clad shoulder. “Can I get you anything else, Mr. Two Wolves?” she asked as she leaned toward him.
Sam looked a little flustered, and Matt didn’t know whether to be annoyed or bust out laughing. He’d thought that Amelia was interested in him, but here she was, making a play for Sam instead.
“How about it, Sam?” he asked with a grin. “See anything you like?”
Chapter 3
The narrow, twisting canyon in the Gila Mountains was choked with brush for much of its length, brush that could claw a man bloody if he wasn’t careful. Nobody would ride up here unless they had a good reason to.
Ed Callahan had believed that he had a good reason, the best reason of all—gold. He had a nose for the stuff, or so he had always told himself even though he’d never found very much of it in the twenty years he’d spent as a prospector and desert rat.
The hardships of those years had honed him down to little more than skin and bones. His cheeks were hollow, and his eyes were sunk deep in pits of gristle.
One of those eyes didn’t see too good anymore. Everything he saw through it looked filmy, like it had one of those thin scarves over it like the dancin’ gals in the big cities used to hide and reveal their fleshy charms at the same time.
But Ed could still see well enough to know that he was in a whole heap of trouble. He swallowed hard as he stared down the barrel of the gun that was no more than four inches from the tip of his nose.
“What are you doin’ up here, old man?” asked the rough-looking hombre who’d stepped out of the brush and pointed the gun at Ed. “You some sort o’ damn spy?”
Ed’s mouth had gone too dry for him to talk. He tried to work up some spit. After a couple of seconds, he managed to say, “N-no, sir. I ain’t no spy. I’m just doin’ a little prospectin’.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the supplies on the pack mule he’d been leading. “You can see for yourself. Just take a look at my outfit.”
The man squinted past him at the mule. “Yeah, that looks like the sort o’ shit a prospector’d have, all right. I never heard o’ anybody findin’ gold in these mountains, though.”
“I…I’m gonna be the first,” Ed declared. “Got me a hunch there’s a fine vein up here just waitin’ for me to find it.”
“Yeah, well, that’s too damn bad. You found more’n you bargained for, old man.” The hardcase stepped back and motioned with the Colt in his hand. “Come on. You’re goin’ with me.”
“Wh-where are we goin’?” Ed asked as he tightened his grip on the mule’s reins and started walking along the canyon.
“Never you mind. You’ll see in a minute.”
And so he did as they rounded a bend and Ed saw that the canyon widened out a little. There was a spring flowing out of the rocks on one side, and near it a crude corral made of ropes and poles cut from saplings. Tents were pitched here and there, and bedrolls were also spread out in the open.
A fire burned near the spring. Ed had thought he smelled wood smoke a few minutes earlier as he’d worked his way up the canyon, but then the smell had faded and he’d decided not to worry about it. Hadn’t been any ’Pache trouble around here for a while.
The men camping here weren’t Apaches, Ed saw as he looked around, although a couple of them appeared to be Mexicans. The rest were white, and every bit as ugly and rough-looking as the gent who’d brought him here at gunpoint.
Oh, shit, Ed thought. They were outlaws. He had stumbled right into the hideout of a bunch of owlhoots.
The man who pushed aside the entrance flap of one of the tents and came out into the fading, late afternoon light didn’t look like an outlaw, though. He wore a long black coat and a white shirt and a string tie. He was clean-shaven, with long, thick brown hair and a slightly lantern-jawed face. He smiled as he strode toward Ed.
“Welcome, brother,” he said. “What brings you here to our humble but temporary home?”
The gunman behind Ed prodded him in the back with the Colt. “Answer the rev’rend.’
Reverend? The fella did look a mite like a preacher, Ed thought.
“I’m, uh, prospectin’ for gold,” he said. “Didn’t mean to intrude—”
“Nonsense,” the preacher said. “One of my fellow strugglers in this world could never intrude. We’re glad to have you.”
Ed wanted to relax. The fella had a way of putting a man at ease. But it was hard to relax too much while he was still surrounded by gun-hung hombres who looked like they’d as soon fill him with lead as spit.
“Obliged
