“Yes, sir,” Sully said, wishing his father would hurry up and quit talking.
“You find out where Bentley is,” Sully’s father said. “Then leave him be. The bluebellies won’t go hunt him down on their own. But if you provide his location, they’ll haul him in or run him off. And we’ll be hundreds of dollars richer, all without dragging our names into the mix. That’s how you take care of things.”
“Yes, sir,” Sully said again, even managing a smile, but his father clearly didn’t understand the situation. Sully had a score to settle with Will Bentley, a personal score that he wouldn’t leave to the bluebellies.
CHAPTER 25
Will and Rufus rode slowly through the open gate and toward Charles Forester’s home. An old, dust-colored dog coughed a few dispirited barks and retreated under the porch.
Otherwise, the place was empty. There was no movement, no noise. Not a single cow inhabited the pastures or pens. The barn door stood open, revealing only silent darkness within.
“Kind of a spooky place,” Rufus whispered.
Will nodded. “Feels like a ghost town.”
“Think anybody’s here?”
Will shrugged then rode up to the porch and called, “Hello, the house!”
Silence.
Will called again.
Faintly, he heard footsteps inside. The door swung open, and Charles Forester stepped into view.
The cattleman had aged poorly over the several years since Will had last seen him and had put on a good deal of weight, a rare phenomenon in this place and time. The pistol shoved through his belt jutted at a strange angle, canted by his large belly.
For a moment, Forester just stared at them, white-haired and baggy-eyed, looking tired and suspicious and mildly confused.
Will wondered if maybe the man had gone senile.
But then Forester squinted at him and said, “Will Bentley?”
“Yes sir,” Will said. “Good morning, Mr. Forester.”
Forester nodded. “Thought that was you. Got big. Who’s that with you?”
“My name’s Rufus Twill, sir,” Rufus said directly… a bold move, given the state of things in Texas.
“All right,” Forester said, “you men climb down. I got some coffee left. Hurts my stomach. But I still brew a whole pot fresh every morning. Habit, I guess.”
Forester lumbered inside and left the door open behind him.
Will climbed down and hitched his mule. Rufus did the same with his horse.
They went up the steps and hesitated on the porch until Forester called from within, “Come on in, boys.”
They followed his voice down a hall to a kitchen, where Forester pulled two mugs from a cabinet and set them on the table and filled them with coffee.
“Sit down, sit down,” Forester said, turning to set the pot on the stove again. Stacks of unwashed dishes towered crookedly on the countertop. “You’ll excuse my mess. I’m not used to company, and you could say this place lacks a woman’s touch.”
The men sat down, Will and Rufus with their mugs of coffee, Forester with an empty tumbler and a jar of amber liquid.
“So what brings you boys here?” Forester said, pouring whiskey into his tumbler.
“Cattle,” Will said.
Forester lifted his snowy brows and snorted. “Cattle, huh?” He hoisted the jar. “Want to liven up that coffee, boys?”
