Grace and the Guiltless

Chapter 21

“Joe?” Grace whispered.

He leaned close.

“That man over there.” Grace nodded furtively toward the whiskey drinker. “He’s one of them. I’m sure of it.”

Grace’s heart hardened, and she knew it showed in her eyes.

Joe’s eyes widened. “One of the gang that killed —”

“Do me a favor,” she interrupted, keeping her voice low. “Can you go over to his table? Get him talking? Find out more about him and who he is. Maybe he’ll give away where the others are.”

Joe shook his head. “What good would that do? Even if he’s who you suspect he is, you can’t shoot him in here.”

Grace had already pulled her gun from the holster. She gripped it tightly underneath the table. “Who says?”

Joe reached over and removed her finger from the trigger. “You want to go to jail?” he whispered.

Rotting in jail would be worth avenging her brother’s death.

Except that she wouldn’t be able to go after the rest of the gang. And the one she wanted most was their leader, Elijah Hale.

She finally slid the gun back into the holster, and Joe’s shoulders relaxed. He probably wouldn’t have been so calm if he knew what she still had in mind, but first she had to be absolutely certain the man at the bar was the right one.

“Please,” she said, looking at him imploringly. “For me?”

Joe’s gaze wandered to her lips, then back to her eyes again. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “I can’t resist that face,” he murmured as he shoved his chair back.

Did she hear him right? Grace stared at him as he strode across the room.

She cast sly glances in the man’s direction, trying not to seem too obvious. Joe approached the man’s table, two whiskeys in hand. The man looked up, startled, when Joe spoke, but after Joe held out a glass, the man gestured to an empty chair. Joe sat down, plunked the whiskeys on the table, and slid one toward him.

Grace watched with narrow eyes as Joe beckoned for refills. Every time the man’s face lifted from the neckerchief he wore, Grace became more and more certain she had sighted her quarry.

She also kept a wary eye out for the sheriff or anyone else who might recognize her.

Across the room, she noticed that Joe barely touched the glass in front of him, but the man had knocked back three more drinks.

He slumped farther and farther down in his chair and soon started drifting to one side. Then he jerked himself upright and sat stiffly for a few seconds before leaning the other way. He was drunker than a skunk, as Pa used to say — and his actions stunk worse than one too. By the time Joe returned to her, his face was a mask of fury.

“His name’s Doc Slaughter,” he spat, “and he’s one of the Guiltless Gang, all right. After I bought him a few drinks, he was only too happy to tell me about his exploits.” Joe grimaced. “It was sickening to sit there and listen to him brag about his ‘triumphs.’ Says he used to be a dentist but turned to gambling and other . . . activities. Said they paid more. If anyone deserves to be shot, it’s him.”

Grace’s hand moved to her pistol.

Joe held out a hand. “No. I didn’t mean by you.” His voice grew hard. “The law should gun him down. From the way he’s talking, he’s on wanted posters from here to Dodge. And all the way north into Minnie-soda, as he calls it.”