Sully walked down the street past the saloon, avoiding the bloodstained boards out front, and carried on toward Ricker’s office. He came to the mercantile and was just getting ready to cross the street when he spied the detestable Mr. Isaac Pew standing in front of the sheriff’s office.
He’d heard strange rumors about Pew lately, something about him kidnapping a girl then letting her get away from him. Now the old man was pacing back and forth in front of the sheriff’s office, muttering angrily to himself.
Sully looked away and walked briskly on by, deciding he’d just come back to the sheriff’s office later and avoid having to talk to the weird old man.
After passing two blocks of boarded-up and burned-out buildings, he came to the only other shop open on this side of town, Gleason’s Café.
The place was empty as usual. Sully took a seat near the window, patted the envelope of money in his pocket, and stared out the window at the street.
“Mr. Weatherspoon,” said the proprietor, a homely young woman whose name Sully could never remember. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Six eggs,” he said. “You know how I like them. Two slices of toast, buttered, and bacon burnt to a crisp. And coffee.”
“Sir,” the woman said and looked around, as if wanting to make sure they were alone. “I have something important to tell you.”
“Did you get my order?” Sully demanded with irritation.
“I did, sir, but there’s something I think you might want to know.”
Sully blinked at her. “What in the world could you possibly know that would be of interest to me?”
“Your cousin, sir,” the woman said with a smile. “It’s about your cousin.”
Sully sat up straight. “Do you know where he is?”
She nodded, her smile faltering a little. “He’s hurt, sir. He’s been asking for you. He needs you. You’re the only one who can help him now.”
“Where is he?”
The maddening smile returned. “Well, last night, I was just getting ready for bed when I heard a tapping at my window.”
Sully grabbed her arm and squeezed. “Where’s Carter?”
“Ouch, you’re hurting me, sir.”
“Tell me where he is.”
“He’s in the root cellar, sir, wanting to see you.”
“Take me there.”
She led him into the back of the restaurant, where she pushed aside a stack of potato crates and revealed a door in the floor.
Sully’s cousin lay in the shallow space, nearly filling it, and blinked pitifully up at him, squinting in the light. All the swagger had gone out of Carter. Now he was filthy and frightened, one sleeve dark with blood. The reports of his having been “grazed” had clearly underestimated the damage he’d taken. Carter’s other hand gripped the revolver he’d used to cause so much trouble.
Seeing Sully, Carter gave a whimper and holstered his weapon. “Sully, you came. I knew you’d come.”
“Yes, I’m here. You’re okay now.”
“I knew I could count on you, Sully. We might be cousins, but I’ve always thought of you as a big brother. I knew that?—”
“Enough talk,” Sully said, his mind racing. “You just take it easy, Carter. I’ll be back soon.”
Carter’s eyes swelled with panic, and he started to come out of the hole. “Wait, Sully. Don’t leave me.”
“Hush now,” Sully said. “What if somebody comes in off the street and hears you?”
Carter shot out a hand and latched onto Sully’s boot. “Don’t leave me, Sully. Get me out of here.”
