Reaper's Fee Part 18

When he spotted the town, Lester didn't allow himself to feel relieved. Thanks to the pounding he'd taken from riding so hard for so long, he couldn't feel much of anything. He rode up to the first saloon he could find and climbed down from his saddle. His legs were so tired that they were barely able to carry him through the door.

The saloon was just over half full. A few of the customers turned to look at Lester, but turned right back around again when they didn't recognize his face. Lester headed for the bar and used both hands to prop himself up against it.

"Looks like you've already had your fill, mister," the barkeep said. "Did Bob already kick you outta his place?"

"Been riding a long time, is all," Lester rasped. Having remained silent since the last time he'd talked to Nick, Lester didn't realize how scratchy his voice would be. Those last few words felt as bad as they sounded and sc.r.a.ped against his throat like nails. After clearing his throat, Lester asked, "Can I have some water?"

"Beer's the closest we've got."

"You can't find any water?"

The barkeep let out a beleaguered sigh and told him, "I'll charge you for beer."

Before he agreed, Lester patted his pockets to confirm what he already knew. "I don't have any money."

"Then you won't be drinking." Taking a moment to look at the wretched sight in front of him, the barkeep leaned forward and said, "I can give you a loan, but you'll have to pay the interest or work it off here. That's the best I can do."

"Iawon't be here long enough."

"Then stop taking up the s.p.a.ce at my G.o.dd.a.m.n bar."

Lester turned and left the saloon. On his way out, he heard a few jokes being made at his expense but was too tired to care much about that. In fact, he didn't even care what folks thought when he walked over to the same trough his horse was using and stuck his head into the warm water. It tasted bitter and more than a little salty, but it was still water and it went down just fine. When he pulled his head back up again, Lester smacked his lips as some of the grit in his throat was replaced by other, somewhat less scratchy, grit.

Walking over to his horse, Lester reached up to his saddle horn but didn't have the strength to pull himself up. Instead, he let out a breath and rested his head for a moment upon the battered leather. That's when he heard the saloon door swing open and someone step outside.

"Hey," the man who'd walked out of the saloon said. "What are you doing here?"

Lester savored the few moments of rest without removing his forehead from the saddle. "I'm leaving right now," he groaned. "Just give me a minute."

"Is that you, Lester?"

Lester's eyes snapped open, but he still kept his head in place. He thought of who would know his name and the first two possibilities made his stomach clench. Then he remembered where he was and where he was headed. He also realized that the voice didn't sound like either Nick or Kinman.

Slowly turning his head, Lester saw a young man with a thick head of dark blond hair staring back at him. His face was clean shaven, exposing its familiar curves. "Pat?" Lester croaked.

"Sure enough, Cousin. What brings you all the way out here? Still runnin' from that Texan whose horse you stole?"

Lester didn't smile until he'd reached out to place both hands upon his cousin's shoulders. "That really is you, Pat."

"Sure it is. Who else would it be?"

"I'll tell you about it later. Is Wesley's place a few miles south of here?"

Pat looked at him and shook his head. "It's a few miles west, just like it's always been."

Now, Lester gave his cousin a heartfelt hug. "Thank G.o.d I found you."

TWENTY-THREE.

Lester and Pat rode to a small homestead that consisted of a two-floor house with a porch that wrapped all the way around it and a barn that looked to be brand new. In fact, considering how clean and well maintained the barn was, it seemed as though Lester's cousins preferred horses to people.

A man and two women sat on the porch in front of the house. The man was obviously Wesley, but he'd cut his dark blond hair down to coa.r.s.e stubble and let his beard grow down to well over a foot in length. His face was a little more weather-beaten and his teeth were a bit more yellow, but it was still the same old Wesley. Lester remembered his older cousin as a burly, rough-looking man with a voice that boomed like a cannon whenever he opened his mouth. Although Wesley's appearance had changed a bit since the last time, his mannerisms sure hadn't.

"I'll be pickled in rat p.i.s.s!" Wesley shouted as he hobbled forward. "What the h.e.l.l are you doin' here?"

"That's the same thing I asked him," Pat said as he climbed down from his saddle.

"And what'd he say?" Wesley asked.

"Nothin' yet."

"Then shut your hole and let the man speak. Maybe he'd like somethin' to drink first."

Lester's eyes widened and he practically flew down off of his horse. "That would be fine!"

Holding his arms out like a magician who'd just performed a trick, Wesley said, "You see, Pat? The man needs to wet his whistle. Go inside and fetch him something to drink."

"I'm taking the horses to the barn first," Pat declared.

Wesley patted the horses on their noses and scratched them lovingly behind the ears. Turning to glance at the women behind him, he grunted. "Fetch us somethin' to drink!"

The older of the two women got up and straightened out her faded yellow skirt. She was probably somewhere in her forties, but wore her years as if every last one of them had been a trial. "I just made some lemonade."

"Then go get it! d.a.m.n! How many times do I need to ask?"

She nodded and put on a thin smile. Looking to the men, she said, "It's good to see you again, Lester."

Wesley's voice thundered loud enough to rattle the dirty gla.s.s in the windowpanes. "Just get it, b.i.t.c.h!"

Neither of the women reacted to the tone in Wesley's voice. The older one headed into the house, while the younger one remained on the porch to continue the knitting that had held her attention since before Lester's arrival.

"Last I heard, you were runnin' from some Mexican about a stolen horse," Wesley said.

Lester's eyes were focused upon the front door of the house as he replied, "It was a Texan."

"Oh," Wesley said with a wince. "I wouldn't have done that."

"I know, I know." When he saw the door swing open again, Lester stepped onto the porch and took the gla.s.s from the woman's hand. "Thanks, Ann."

Before she could finish saying, "You're welcome," the older woman was refilling the gla.s.s Lester had already drained. She tipped a pitcher she carried in her other hand and smiled as Lester drank that helping just as quickly as he had the first one.

Refreshed, Lester blinked and looked around as if he'd just woken up. "Did you find that grave?" he asked.

"What grave?" Wesley asked.

Lester shook his head wearily. "You know the one I mean."

Shooing his wife back into the house, Wesley replied, "Yeah, we found it. So what?"

"Was the money in there? What about the jewels?"

Narrowing his eyes, Wesley leaned forward like a dog guarding its territory. "You ain't in line for one cent of that money, family or not. Me and Pat found it. Me and Pat dug it up. Me and Pat pried it out of that dead man's hands."

"Good Lord," the younger woman whispered as she set down her knitting needles and crossed herself.

By this time, Pat had returned from the barn and was close enough to listen in. "Keep quiet, Stephanie. You don't seem so picky when you're wearing that new necklace I gave you."

The younger woman was thin and had a narrow, somewhat angular face. Her skin was obviously accustomed to being pale, but had recently been burned after too much sun. Wisps of hair flew from the rest that was tied behind her head. Upon hearing her husband's voice, one of her hands reflexively drifted up to her neck.

Lester's eyes fixed upon the glittering necklace resting against her smooth skin. Lunging forward to reach for the necklace with both hands, he asked, "Where'd you get that?"

Pat's hand snapped down to clamp around Lester's wrist before Lester even realized his cousin had gotten so close. The grip tightened painfully as Pat shoved Lester's arm to one side.

"You know d.a.m.n well where it came from," Pat hissed.

"You two really dug up that grave in the Badlands," Lester whispered.

Wesley rocked on his heels and smiled proudly. "We sure as h.e.l.l did. I told you all about how we were supposed to be working for Cobb, didn't I?"

"A bit."

"When was that, Pat? A year ago?"

"Closer to three years," Pat replied.

"Whichever, it was one of the times that Barrett Cobb called on us to back him up on one of his schemes. Usually we just pick off anyone trying to follow him and his men on their way out of some town or another and this time wasn't supposed to be any different. Well, Barrett never showed. We went to meet him and found one of his men carrying ol' Barrett away. Cobb was dead as a doornail."

The door swung open again and Ann came out with two more gla.s.ses. Wesley and Pat each took one and then Ann walked back into the house. Stephanie was reluctant to follow her, but moved quickly once Pat nodded for her to get going.

Once his wife was inside, Pat said, "We thought Cobb was being brought to us, since the man carrying him was headed this way. But we followed him into the Badlands instead and he planted Cobb up there. We never got our cut and n.o.body ever found the jewels, so we thought they were probably buried there, too."

"And you let them set there for three years?" Lester asked.

"We didn't know for sure where them jewels were. Besides, you wouldn't be so quick to dig up a grave," Wesley snapped. "Not if you saw the man who dug it. He looked like death warmed over and he was one of Barrett's gunmen. Those fellas ain't to be trifled with."

"I've been hearing about those jewels for a while now," Lester said. Lowering his voice and looking around, he added, "Were you spreading them rumors?"

Pat shrugged. "We may have done some talking after things settled from that robbery. It ain't as if anyone can know we was really there."

Wesley sipped his lemonade and wiped away what he'd splashed onto his beard. He looked as if he would bust if he didn't spit out what he wanted to say next. "It was my idea to head back up there. I figured if n.o.body went to claim them jewels, they were rightfully ours, since we never got our share."

Pat corrected him. "You started talking about that a few months after the robbery. Just like you kept talking about it every couple of months after that. Just like clockwork."

Glaring at the younger man, Wesley said, "You could'a gone up there any time you wanted. h.e.l.l, I bet Stephanie would've gone up there on her own if she knew where to dig."

"Shut your d.a.m.n mouth, Wes. I swear I'lla""

"You'll what?"

Pat took a swing at Wesley that clipped him on the chin. The older man's beard seemed to have absorbed most of the blow, since Wesley wasted no time in lunging at his cousin and knocking him off the porch. Both men, covered in spilled lemonade, landed on the ground, a pile of thrashing arms and legs. In no time at all, they were kicking up enough dirt to form a small cloud.

Setting down his gla.s.s, Lester jumped off the porch and waded into the brawl between his two cousins. He caught a few glancing blows for his trouble, but managed to get between the two men and pull them apart.

"You were right to stay out of there," Lester said just before Wesley's elbow buried itself in his gut. Doubling over, Lester lashed out with one foot and caught Wesley in the shin.

Although both cousins still had plenty of fight left in them, they pulled themselves back simply because Lester was in their way.

Hacking painfully, Lester said, "You were right. You hear me? You were right to keep your distance from there."

"See?" Wesley sneered. "I told you so!"

Before he could stop himself, Lester turned and smacked his older cousin across the face. Wesley looked more shocked than hurt by the blow and stared at him with his mouth hanging open. It was the only time that Lester had ever seen the man speechless.

"And you were wrong for going after it at all," Lester said. "I don't know about the rest of the men Cobb worked with, but one of them is a killer like I've never seen. You heard of Nick Graves?"

Pat nodded. "Yeah. Cobb used to mention him."

"Well I've heard plenty about Graves and I think all of it's true. I've seen Graves and he'd gun you down just as soon as he'd look at you."

Shoving Lester back as a way to regain his posture, Wesley asked, "When have you ever seen Nick Graves?"

"Maybe a day ago and he was in the Badlands at Cobb's grave."

Now, both of Lester's cousins were speechless. Pat turned white as a sheet and then squatted with his hands on his knees. Wesley ran his fingers over his head and then sifted through the tangled mess of his beard.

"Nick Graves is here?" Pat asked breathlessly.

"He was in the Badlands," Lester repeated. "At Cobb's grave. He's the one who buried him there."

"And you were there, too?"

Wesley's eyes snapped toward Lester. He lunged toward his cousin and grabbed him by the front of his shirt with both hands. "Are you working with Graves? You stupid son of a b.i.t.c.h, he'll kill all of us to get them jewels!"

To his credit, Lester tried his best to smack Wesley's hands away. Unfortunately, his best wasn't quite strong enough to do the job. After a few more attempts, Lester wound up simply grabbing Wesley's wrists. "I wasn't working with him," he said while tugging at his cousin's wrists. "Heahe forced me to take him to the grave."

"But he already knew where it was."

"Not Graves. I mean another man forced me to take him there. A bounty hunter named Alan Kinman."

"So Kinman's here and not Graves?" Pat asked.

Lester squirmed at the end of Wesley's fists like a worm on a fishing line. "Actually, they're both here."