curtain. A lone stripe of silver moonlight angled across the back of the picture: SHARON LUNDGREN, 1860-1889, BELOVED WIFE OF DUNCAN LUNDGREN. So he was a widower, Lundgren was. It made him human for me, and for some reason, I didn't want him to be human.
The second carpetbag didn't yield much more-not at first anyway. Mars was a collector of pills and salves and ointments. The bag had enough of these things to stock a small pharmacy. He seemed to be a worrier, Mars did.
I had almost given up on the bag when my fingers felt, way in the back, an edge of paper. I felt farther. An envelope. I pulled it out, winnowing it upward through tins of muscle ointment and small bottles of pills that rattled like an infant's toy.
I went back to the window and the moonlight.
I turned the envelope face up. In the left upper hand I saw the name and address of the letter writer. My old friend Schroeder, known hereabouts as Reeves.
The letter was brief, inviting Lundgren and Mars here to "increase their fortunes by assisting me in a most worthy endeavor."
I didn't have to wonder about what that "worthy endeavor" might be. Not when Reeves owned half a bank in town here.
I put the envelope back in the carpetbag and the carpetbag back on the chair.
I went to the door, eased it open, stuck my head out. The hallway was empty. In the hall I relocked the door, checked again to make sure that nobody was watching me, and then walked quickly to the screen door and the fire escape.
I knew now that I wasn't done with Reeves. Not at all, no matter how much I'd promised Gillian otherwise.
11
"He's going to do it again."
"He?"
"Schroeder. Reeves. Whatever name he goes by."
"Do what?"
"Hire two people to rob his bank and then double-cross them. Take the money and kill them."
"You sure?"
"Positive. Those two men I saw in town?"
"They're the ones?"
"They're the ones. I got into their hotel room tonight. They had a letter from Reeves."
She didn't say anything for a long time. We were in bed. The window was soft silver with moonlight. Annie muttered in her sleep. The air smelled of dinner stew and tobacco from my pipe. Somewhere an owl sang lonely into the deep sweet night.
"You promised to stay clear of it, Chase."
"I was just telling you who they are."
"You'll get in trouble. I know it."
"I didn't mean to make you mad."
She was silent. "I thought we had a nice life," she said after a time.
"We do."
"Then why do you want to spoil it?"
"I won't spoil it, Gillian. I promise."
"You promise," she said. "Men are always promising, and it doesn't mean anything."
I tried to kiss her but she wouldn't let me. She rolled over on her side, facing the wall.
"You know I love you, Gillian."
She was silent.
"Gillian?"
Silent.
I rolled over. Thought. Felt naked and alone. My sore throat was getting worse, too, and every once in a while, I'd shiver from chills.
I couldn't stop thinking about Gillian. How she knew what was going to happen now, with Reeves and all. How betrayed she must feel.
I tried to make it better for her.
"I'm not your father, Gillian," I said. "I'm not going to hurt you and I'm not going to run out on you the way he did. Do you understand that?"
But she didn't speak then, either.
After an hour or so I slept.
12
Next night, I made my rounds early. I had some business to do.
Lundgren and Mars put in their usual appearance at the usual time, strolling down the street to the livery, picking up their horses and riding out of town just as the moon rose directly over the river.
I rode a quarter mile behind them out the winding stage road.
They
The second carpetbag didn't yield much more-not at first anyway. Mars was a collector of pills and salves and ointments. The bag had enough of these things to stock a small pharmacy. He seemed to be a worrier, Mars did.
I had almost given up on the bag when my fingers felt, way in the back, an edge of paper. I felt farther. An envelope. I pulled it out, winnowing it upward through tins of muscle ointment and small bottles of pills that rattled like an infant's toy.
I went back to the window and the moonlight.
I turned the envelope face up. In the left upper hand I saw the name and address of the letter writer. My old friend Schroeder, known hereabouts as Reeves.
The letter was brief, inviting Lundgren and Mars here to "increase their fortunes by assisting me in a most worthy endeavor."
I didn't have to wonder about what that "worthy endeavor" might be. Not when Reeves owned half a bank in town here.
I put the envelope back in the carpetbag and the carpetbag back on the chair.
I went to the door, eased it open, stuck my head out. The hallway was empty. In the hall I relocked the door, checked again to make sure that nobody was watching me, and then walked quickly to the screen door and the fire escape.
I knew now that I wasn't done with Reeves. Not at all, no matter how much I'd promised Gillian otherwise.
11
"He's going to do it again."
"He?"
"Schroeder. Reeves. Whatever name he goes by."
"Do what?"
"Hire two people to rob his bank and then double-cross them. Take the money and kill them."
"You sure?"
"Positive. Those two men I saw in town?"
"They're the ones?"
"They're the ones. I got into their hotel room tonight. They had a letter from Reeves."
She didn't say anything for a long time. We were in bed. The window was soft silver with moonlight. Annie muttered in her sleep. The air smelled of dinner stew and tobacco from my pipe. Somewhere an owl sang lonely into the deep sweet night.
"You promised to stay clear of it, Chase."
"I was just telling you who they are."
"You'll get in trouble. I know it."
"I didn't mean to make you mad."
She was silent. "I thought we had a nice life," she said after a time.
"We do."
"Then why do you want to spoil it?"
"I won't spoil it, Gillian. I promise."
"You promise," she said. "Men are always promising, and it doesn't mean anything."
I tried to kiss her but she wouldn't let me. She rolled over on her side, facing the wall.
"You know I love you, Gillian."
She was silent.
"Gillian?"
Silent.
I rolled over. Thought. Felt naked and alone. My sore throat was getting worse, too, and every once in a while, I'd shiver from chills.
I couldn't stop thinking about Gillian. How she knew what was going to happen now, with Reeves and all. How betrayed she must feel.
I tried to make it better for her.
"I'm not your father, Gillian," I said. "I'm not going to hurt you and I'm not going to run out on you the way he did. Do you understand that?"
But she didn't speak then, either.
After an hour or so I slept.
12
Next night, I made my rounds early. I had some business to do.
Lundgren and Mars put in their usual appearance at the usual time, strolling down the street to the livery, picking up their horses and riding out of town just as the moon rose directly over the river.
I rode a quarter mile behind them out the winding stage road.
They
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