singing to himself. “Father, dear Father, come home with me now . . .” He laughed and tilted the bottle again.
In the front room, Clay took what food was left from the whores’ visit and began stuffing it into one of the picnic hampers.
“What are you up to?” Essex asked him.
“I‘m cleaning up, that’s all.”
When he was finished with the food, Clay checked the prisoner. The level in the whiskey bottle was well down. “Why’d you change your mind about the liquor?” Vance asked.
“Maybe I feel guilty for not letting you have that bottle the girls brought you. Maybe I’m just a nice fellow.”
“You’re a lot nicer’n Wes, that’s for sure. He’s pissed as hell at me, you know, for gettin’ in trouble like I done.” There was a loud clap of thunder overhead. Vance looked up, then drank again. “Wes is jealous of me—that’s a fact. ’Cause I’m better lookin’ than him, and I do better with the ladies.” He winked. “I used to be friendly with that little lady of yours, until Lee opened up her face.”
Essex expected Clay to get angry, but the marshal showed no reaction to Vance’s statement. Instead, he said amiably, “Wes might be jealous, but he’s sure ready to come to your side when you’re in trouble.”
“We’re all like that,” Vance explained. “I’d do the same for Wes or Lee, was it them.” He chuckled. “I ‘member when I’se a kid. I’d start fights, and Wes and Lee would come along and join in if I was doin’ bad. That’s the way our ma raised us up, you know—after Pa run out on us. ‘Don’t take no shit off nobody’—that’s what Ma always told us. And we never did. Still don’t.”
He took another drink. “After Ma died, Wes took to running things. He’s good at that. Hell, he runs this town—he must be.”
“Don’t you want to get from under Wes’s shadow?” Clay asked him. “Get out on your own?”
Vance shrugged. “Why? I got everything I need, and this way I don’t have to do none of the thinkin’—Wes takes care of all that.”
There was a loud crack of lightning, followed almost simultaneously by a boom of thunder, and all three men started. Vance laughed nervously. “That one was close. Glad we’re in here.”
“I hate bein’ out in this shit,” Essex said, as much to himself as anyone else. “When I was on a cattle drive to Abilene, we was caught on the prairie in storms like this a couple of times, with nowheres to hide, nothing to do but let it roll over you and pray you ain’t the one that’s hit. Lord, I ain’t never been so scared. You get to feelin’ pretty powerless when that happens. You get to rememberin’ your prayers real good.”
Vance pushed back his hair and took another drink. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe the talk about prayer, but he grew suddenly morose. “I’ll be glad to be out’n here tomorrow. I’m afraid of hangin’, you know, Marshal—always have been. I killed my first man when I was sixteen—I did it just to beat Wes’s record. Wasn’t nobody goin’ to beat Lee’s record, of course. Lee makes Jesse James look like the Angel of Mercy.”
“How many men have you killed?” Clay asked.
“Ain’t sure, really. Fifteen, maybe—no, it’s got to be more than that.” His good humor returned. “You count Mexicans and niggers?”
“ I count ‘em,” Essex said.
“Well, I killed my share of niggers. Yes, indeedy. Back in Texas. My civic duty, as I saw it.”
Essex grabbed for him through the cell bars. “You ain’t gonna last till your hanging, ’cause I’m gonna—”
There was a terrific bang of lightning and thunder at the same time.
“Jesus!” Vance said in awed tones.
Outside it grew very dark. There was a strong gust of wind. Something blew against the jail wall with a thump. Dust and trash came in the broken window, followed by the sudden heavy pounding of raindrops on the roof and against the adobe walls.
Essex still wanted to go into the cell and
In the front room, Clay took what food was left from the whores’ visit and began stuffing it into one of the picnic hampers.
“What are you up to?” Essex asked him.
“I‘m cleaning up, that’s all.”
When he was finished with the food, Clay checked the prisoner. The level in the whiskey bottle was well down. “Why’d you change your mind about the liquor?” Vance asked.
“Maybe I feel guilty for not letting you have that bottle the girls brought you. Maybe I’m just a nice fellow.”
“You’re a lot nicer’n Wes, that’s for sure. He’s pissed as hell at me, you know, for gettin’ in trouble like I done.” There was a loud clap of thunder overhead. Vance looked up, then drank again. “Wes is jealous of me—that’s a fact. ’Cause I’m better lookin’ than him, and I do better with the ladies.” He winked. “I used to be friendly with that little lady of yours, until Lee opened up her face.”
Essex expected Clay to get angry, but the marshal showed no reaction to Vance’s statement. Instead, he said amiably, “Wes might be jealous, but he’s sure ready to come to your side when you’re in trouble.”
“We’re all like that,” Vance explained. “I’d do the same for Wes or Lee, was it them.” He chuckled. “I ‘member when I’se a kid. I’d start fights, and Wes and Lee would come along and join in if I was doin’ bad. That’s the way our ma raised us up, you know—after Pa run out on us. ‘Don’t take no shit off nobody’—that’s what Ma always told us. And we never did. Still don’t.”
He took another drink. “After Ma died, Wes took to running things. He’s good at that. Hell, he runs this town—he must be.”
“Don’t you want to get from under Wes’s shadow?” Clay asked him. “Get out on your own?”
Vance shrugged. “Why? I got everything I need, and this way I don’t have to do none of the thinkin’—Wes takes care of all that.”
There was a loud crack of lightning, followed almost simultaneously by a boom of thunder, and all three men started. Vance laughed nervously. “That one was close. Glad we’re in here.”
“I hate bein’ out in this shit,” Essex said, as much to himself as anyone else. “When I was on a cattle drive to Abilene, we was caught on the prairie in storms like this a couple of times, with nowheres to hide, nothing to do but let it roll over you and pray you ain’t the one that’s hit. Lord, I ain’t never been so scared. You get to feelin’ pretty powerless when that happens. You get to rememberin’ your prayers real good.”
Vance pushed back his hair and took another drink. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe the talk about prayer, but he grew suddenly morose. “I’ll be glad to be out’n here tomorrow. I’m afraid of hangin’, you know, Marshal—always have been. I killed my first man when I was sixteen—I did it just to beat Wes’s record. Wasn’t nobody goin’ to beat Lee’s record, of course. Lee makes Jesse James look like the Angel of Mercy.”
“How many men have you killed?” Clay asked.
“Ain’t sure, really. Fifteen, maybe—no, it’s got to be more than that.” His good humor returned. “You count Mexicans and niggers?”
“ I count ‘em,” Essex said.
“Well, I killed my share of niggers. Yes, indeedy. Back in Texas. My civic duty, as I saw it.”
Essex grabbed for him through the cell bars. “You ain’t gonna last till your hanging, ’cause I’m gonna—”
There was a terrific bang of lightning and thunder at the same time.
“Jesus!” Vance said in awed tones.
Outside it grew very dark. There was a strong gust of wind. Something blew against the jail wall with a thump. Dust and trash came in the broken window, followed by the sudden heavy pounding of raindrops on the roof and against the adobe walls.
Essex still wanted to go into the cell and
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