The Last Lawman by Peter Brandvold

Author:Peter Brandvold
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781101611456
Publisher: Penguin USA
Published: 2012-10-02T05:00:00+00:00

SIXTEEN

Spurr set one bucket of steaming water and one bucket of cold water down in front of the closed bedroom door.

Hesitating, he wiped his hands on his buckskin breeches, then lightly rapped the knuckles of his right hand against the halved-log door.

He turned an ear to the door, listened for a moment, then cleared his throat. “Uh…uh, ma’am…I set some water down here outside the door. Some hot, some cold.”

Spurr paused, stared in consternation at the door, trying to think of something else to say. On the other side of the door rose no sound whatever. Finally, the old lawman ran a hand down his patch-bearded jaw, turned away, and walked back across the living area that he and the other men had straightened as best as they could.

Mason was the last one at the eating table in the kitchen section of the house. The others had eaten and were now sitting outside in chairs they’d hauled out from the cabin. They weren’t saying anything though above the crackling of the fire in the kitchen range Spurr could hear the occasional gurgling of a bottle being tipped back, the wooden squawk of the chairs as the men shifted around.

None of the others had said much of anything since they’d found the woman. They’d gone about their chores of straightening the cabin to make it liveable for themselves for one night, and out of respect for Mrs. Wilde. They’d buried Waylon Humphreys and his son, Paul. Then Spurr had cut some steaks off the side of beef he’d found in the root cellar outside and fried them up along with some potatoes.

This, despite the fact no one was really hungry. Finding the dead rancher and his boy, and the woman, had hit them all hard. It had cast a dark pall over the dark mountain night.

Mostly, they’d all just wanted to drink. But they knew they had to eat.

Spurr looked from Mason to the raw chunk of steak he’d left in a pan on the plank cupboard near the dry sink. He’d fetched it for Mrs. Wilde, in case she wanted to eat something. But they hadn’t heard a peep out of her since Spurr and Mason had left her in the room they’d found her in.

Spurr sat down in the chair he’d vacated when he’d fetched the water for Mrs. Wilde and leaned forward on his arms. He stared down at his quirley smoldering on his plate on which only his steak bone and a smear of grease remained. A bottle stood on the table between him and Mason—one of the bottles of brandy they’d found in Humphreys’s cellar, which had been overlooked by the Vultures. Mason grabbed the bottle, plucked the cork from its lip, and dumped a goodly portion into his coffee cup.

There was no coffee in the cup. Spurr had noticed that the sheriff had only drunk about half a cup of coffee before switching solely to brandy, which wasn’t like him. Spurr had never known the man to be much of a drinker.

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