Doyle spit and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “My goodness. Never figured you for a self-righteous prick. You thinkin’ about talkin’ to someone? Is that what this is about? Seems to me that if you’re inclined to speak up, you might have an appointment with the hangman yourself. As far as I can tell, there are no innocents here.”
Willet said, “It pains me some to tell you that Doyle’s speakin’ for me. I don’t usually find myself in such agreement with my brother. I imagine from your perspective, Doyle and me look like a couple of loose cannons. Have I got that right?”
“Aren’t you?” asked Ellie. She skewered the brothers with a sharp look. “You stole from the passengers and you had to kill to cover your tracks. That was stupid. All of it.”
“That’s over with,” said Doyle. “Our man ain’t nowhere to be found, so I guess we’re clear of it.” He swung his lantern a few degrees up and down. “We had a name from the whore. Turns out it was probably a lie, but no one’s come forward to say different or to point a finger at us. I jawed some with the sheriff this afternoon, just because I could. You didn’t see him haulin’ me off to jail, did you?”
“Damnation,” Natty said, shaking his head. “That’s not confidence you’re showin’ off. That’s a lack of brains, pure and simple. Willet, you really need to take your brother in hand. When he goes, it’s a sure thing he’s going to take you with him.”
Willet shrugged. “You leave Doyle to me and worry about yourself. We have ourselves in a bit of a pickle with Ben here. Has he been talkin’ nonsense long?”
“Long enough,” said Natty. “Murdering that deputy put him out of sorts. That’s what I’m getting from our conversation.And he doesn’t cotton to killing the whore either. It’s you and Doyle that got him thinking that maybe he needs to wipe his slate clean. You know damn well that I didn’t like it. Until the two of you went sideways on me, no real harm was done. Sure, Frost was out some money, the passengers were out some trinkets, and Northeast Rail was some kind of mad about the stain to their reputation. Now you got Ben thinking he needs to set it all right.”
Doyle raised his lantern again, this time to shine it in Ben’s face. “That’s right, boy. You need to blink and step back like you was scared, ’cause if you ain’t scared, I’m tellin’ you that you should be. What I want to know is if you’re so hell-bent on sayin’ something to the law, why haven’t you? Why are you here havin’ a powwow about it?”
“Shut up, Doyle,” Willet said. “And put that lantern down. Don’t push him. Can’t you figure that he wanted to talk to his mama first, maybe give her a chance to reason him out of it? He can’t tell his story without involving Mrs. Madison. That’s got to be weighin’ on him some. That sound about right, son?”
Ellie’s chin came up. “Don’t call him that. He’s not your son.”
Willet’s dark eyebrows rose high enough to furrow his forehead. He said mildly, “That put up someone’s hackles.”
“Get out,” said Ellie. “Your mere presence is a provocation. Let me handle this.”
Willet made a show of considering what she’d said. “Probably should, Mrs. Madison, but Doyle and me have plans of our own. Doyle, for God’s sake, will you stop swinging that lantern?” The expression he turned on Ellie was long on suffering. “The trouble is it’s hard to know how to go forward, what with this threat hangin’ over our head like the sword of Damocles.”
Doyle nodded. The arc of his swinging lantern was shorter now but the light from it continued to wax and wane. “Uh-huh. Like the damn sword of Clees.”
Willet’s mouth flattened and he shook his head as he cast a sideways glance at his brother. Almost apologetically, he said to the others, “Sometimes he can’t help himself.”
When attention shifted back to Willet, Doyle swung his lantern hard, high, and wide, aiming for the side of Natty Rahway’s head. Natty threw up a forearm to block the blow that would have laid him out cold. He ducked, lunged at Doyle, but he never had a chance to deflect Willet’s swing. The base of the lantern caught him on the underside of his chin, knocked his lower teeth into his upper ones with a crack that seemed to echo off the barn walls. The hit took the big man down and he pitched forward onto the floor and then he was still.
Ben pushed Ellie out of the way while Doyle was still admiring his brother’s work. The David and Goliath moment was not lost on him and he recognized the danger Doyle’s swinging lantern presented. He aimed low, driving his head into Doyle’s soft belly and knocking the man off his feet. They went to the floor together, Ben on top, and wrestled for possession of the lantern and the upper hand.
Ellie and Willet jumped out of the way as the men rolled between them. Ellie made a grab for the lantern as soon as she could, but Willet knocked her arm aside with enough force to make her stagger backward. Before she could recover, he was behind her with a forearm locked around her throat. He did not try to cut off her air. He wanted her son to hear her strangled cry.
Ben did hear it. He stopped grappling with Doyle. “Let her go!” He tried to scramble to his feet, but Doyle would not surrender his hold. The lantern rolled sideways. Oil seeped onto the floor.
Willet marched Ellie toward the combatants. When he was close enough to make himself felt, he jammed the pointed toe of one boot into Doyle’s side. “Ease up there, Doyle. We’re done here, and he’s finished.” To make certain he spoke the truth, he brought his lantern down hard on Ben’s head. Glass shattered, oil spilled, and flame followed the rivulet into Ben’s hair. Ellie fought to get out from under Willet’s arm but the pressure across her throat had become too much and it was only a matter of moments before she couldn’t breathe.
Doyle shoved Ben away. “Damn, Willet, you lit him up.” He slapped halfheartedly at the fire smoldering in Ben’s hair.
“What the hell are you doing?” asked Willet. “Leave him.” He removed his arm from Ellie’s throat as soon as he felt her slight weight become heavy against him. She collapsed on the floor beside Ben.
“Hell,” said Doyle. “You could’ve set me on fire.” He was still examining his clothing as he got to his knees.
“You’re fine. Get up.” Willet picked up the lantern Doyle had dropped earlier and smashed it against an empty stall. This time oil dripped onto a hay bale. Flames left the lantern in a cascade and spread across the top of a bale. Where oil sprinkled the sides of the stall, flames licked the wood and slipped into the crevices. “We’re going. You take the back. I’ll get this door.”
Ben stirred.
Willet pointed to him. “Do something about that, Doyle.”
Doyle regarded Ben dispassionately and then aimed his boot at the younger man’s chin. The kick was vicious. Ben’s head snapped back, he groaned, and then he lay quiet as death. “Back door,” said Doyle. “Got it. And Willet?”
“Yes?”
“Sorry I doubted about the guns. You were right. We didn’t need them.”
• • •
