Virgil looked to me.

“What happened?” I said.

Eddie took his time before saying anything.

“Them two killed him is what happened,” Eddie said, looking intently at Virgil. “He didn’t go along with their shit and they for sure killed him. They did their lying best to pin it on Mexican rustlers. Mexican rustlers, shit . . . They had Jim’s horse when they come back, too. I knew damn good what happened.”

“What’d you do?”

“While they were spinning their bullshit yarn,” Eddie said, “telling the day boss what went down, I got on my horse and got the hell outta there.”

“You never saw them again?” Virgil said.

“No,” Eddie said. “I got out of there and didn’t look back. I was owed money, too, but I just got out of there while the getting was good. They knew Jim and me was good friends and I figured it’d be just a matter of time ’fore they did the same thing to me they done to Jim. I just run off.”

Eddie looked to me, then back to Virgil.

“I knew where they’d been working that day,” Eddie said. “I rode out and found Jim’s body.”

“Where?” Virgil said.

“He was hanging from a goddamn scrub oak,” Eddie said. “They strung him up.”

Eddie stopped talking for a moment. He looked away, then back at Virgil with a fierce expression on his face.

“They tortured Jim,” Eddie said, shaking his head slowly from side to side. “It was like they enjoyed it or something. His face was all swollen and . . . his trousers was down . . . it was . . .”

— 59 —

Cotters done it?” Virgil said. “You’re certain?”

Eddie nodded.

“Hell, yes, they did,” Eddie said. “Jim saw something in them the first day. He told me to stay away from them. He told me they was no good and he was right.”

“Tell me everything else you know about them,” Virgil said.

“Don’t know nothing, really,” Eddie said.

“What’d they look like?” I said.

“They kind of looked alike,” Eddie said. “Twenty-eight, thirty maybe, one was a little older, bigger, they both are good-size fellas, beards . . . I don’t know.”

“Any idea where they are, or where they could be?” Virgil said.

Eddie shook his head.

“I don’t,” Eddie said. “But Jim’s handle for them was ‘them boys from the brakes.’”

“The brakes?” I said.

Eddie nodded.

“Yaqui Brakes?” I said.

“I don’t know,” Eddie said. “Jim knew this country. I guess he was talking about the Yaqui Brakes, I don’t know. Jim said they bragged they had their own whorehouse or some shit, and that they’d supply him with all the ax he could handle.”

“Whorehouse?” I said.

Eddie nodded.

“You sure about that?”

“That’s what Jim said,” Eddie said.

“We been through there, Virgil,” I said.

“We have,” he said.

“Where is this,” Swickey said. “The Yaqui Brakes?”

“Brush country,” I said. “Off the tracks in bottomland between here and Yaqui.”

Virgil nodded.

“Rough holdout place,” Virgil said.

“It is,” I said. “Scrawny creek through there. Summer was sixty, seventy transient tenters, campers, when we was through there. Winter now, won’t be as many down there, I’d say. Southern no-good holdouts, mostly.”

Eddie nodded.

“Those boys were southerners,” Eddie said. “That’s for damn sure.”

“Whorehouse down there seems like the type of place they’d be,” I said.

“Least till they felt like they were in the clear,” Virgil said.

“Not that far,” I said. “Worth a try.”

“You going there?” Eddie said.

Virgil looked at me.

“If so,” Eddie said. “And if it’s okay with you, Mr. Swickey, I want to go with them.”

“Let these men do their job, Eddie,” Swickey said.

“Jim was my only family,” Eddie said.

“No matter,” Swickey said.

“Does matter,” Eddie said.

“These men are lawmen, Eddie,” Swickey said.

“There ain’t been a day gone by since I saw him hanging there that I’ve not thought about him, Mr. Swickey,” Eddie said. “He was good to me. We’d been together for a good long while. He taught me a lot. When I rode away that day, I felt like a coward for not going back and standing up for what was in my heart, and I’ve felt like a coward every day since . . . If it’s okay, I’d like to go.”

Swickey started to speak, but Eddie continued.

“But if you don’t want me to,” Eddie said, “I understand, but if so I quit.”

“Quit?” Swickey said.

“Just as soon quit you, Mr. Swickey,” Eddie said, “than to let Jim go like this, like I done.”

Eddie looked to Virgil and me.

“I’m no gun hand,” Eddie said. “Not really good with one, but I can be helpful. Just as soon die as live another day thinking about them and what they done to Jim.”

Swickey looked at Eddie for a long moment, then looked to Virgil.

“What about the ranchers?” Swickey said.

“What about them?” Virgil said.

“What is your order of priority?” Swickey said.

“As in looking for them?” Virgil said.

“Yes,” Swickey said. “I don’t know the new upstarts over here, but I do know some names of some of the older groups that could, not saying they are, but could, be behind this.”

“Better to snuff out the wick before pouring out the oil,” Virgil said.

“Is,” I said. “At least since we know the Yaqui Brakes might well prove to be their whereabouts.”

“No guarantee,” Swickey said.

“Never is,” Virgil said.

“You gonna go?” Eddie said.

“We are,” Virgil said.

“Okay I go?” Eddie said.

Virgil looked to me.

I nodded.

Virgil looked to Swickey.

Swickey looked to Eddie, then Virgil, and nodded.

“What would you like for me to do, Marshal Cole?” Swickey said.

“The best we can hope for,” Virgil said, “is we capture one of these mutts and get to the bottom of who paid them to do what they did. If for some reason that don’t play out for us in that fashion, you could let me know the names of outfits that you feel might be behind this.”

“Already have,” Swickey said.

Swickey pulled out a piece of paper from his vest pocket and handed it to Virgil.

Virgil looked at the paper. He read it and handed it to me.

“Good enough,” Virgil said.

“When will you go to the brakes?” Swickey said.

“Now,” Virgil said.

“And Eddie?” Swickey said.

Virgil looked to Eddie.

“You think you got the stomach for this?” Virgil said.

“I don’t got the stomach not to,” Eddie said.

Virgil nodded and stood up. He walked to the side door and looked out. He stepped outside.

“Skinny Jack,” Virgil called out. “Come here.”

Virgil walked back into the room and looked at everyone looking at him.

“Here we go,” Virgil said.

— 60 —

We left Swickey and his other hands at the Boston House and made our way back to the front of the sheriff’s office, where we met with Chastain and readied ourselves to ride.

“What if they ain’t there?” Chastain said.

“Then they ain’t there,” Virgil said.

“If they are there,” Chastain said, “you think they will all be there? Still be together?”

Virgil looked to me.

“Good chance,” I said.

“Is,” Virgil said.

“Like a pack of dogs,” I said.

“Think Ballard will still be among ’em?” Chastain said.

“We do,” I said.

“He’s come this far with them,” Virgil said. “And going by what we know of him he could very well be the goddamn stallion of the herd by now.”

“Don’t figure they’ll still be dressed in no blues,” Chastain said. “Do you think?”

Virgil looked to me.

“Don’t think so,” I said.

“Wouldn’t be very fitting to wear a Union uniform in a holdout camp,” Virgil said.

“Never know, though,” I said.

Virgil nodded.

“They might,” he said.