It started raining about an hour before Matt reached Quigotoa. Although rainfall was scarce in the desert, when it did rain it was often a torrential downpour. This was just such a rain, and Matt had to be careful to avoid dry creek beds, arroyos, and low-lying areas for fear of a sudden flash flood.

Matt put on a rain slicker and hunkered down in the saddle, but nothing helped.

“Just a little farther, Spirit,” he said to the horse, who, with frequent tossing of his head, showed his discomfort with the downpour. “I’ll find a place to get you dry, I promise.”

Finally, cresting a ridge, Matt saw the town of Quigotoa in the distance, low-lying and gray behind the diaphanous curtain of the rainstorm.

“There it is, boy,” Matt said. “I told you it wouldn’t be much farther.”

It took another fifteen minutes or so after the little town was spotted before Matt reached it. The street was a slurry of mud mixed with horse apples, the droppings reconstituted by the water so that the stench was released. He saw a stable that was no more than a roof over a pen. It wasn’t exactly a livery, but it would provide Spirit with some shelter from the rain, and from the sun after the rain passed.

He rode up to it, then dismounted. At first, he didn’t see anyone; then, at second glance, he saw someone sitting in one corner of the stable where, in addition to the roof, there were half walls, thus providing a bit more shelter from the rain.

“Is this a public livery?” he called, having to raise his voice to be heard through the rain.

“Sí, señor. Ten cents, one night,” the man responded without leaving the partial shelter.

“Here’s fifty cents,” Matt said, fishing the coin from his pocket. “Give him something to eat, and take care of my saddle.”

The prospect of fifty cents was enough to bring the old Mexican away from the shelter, and he had a big smile on his face as he approached.

“Gracias, señor. Cuidaré muy bien de su caballo.”

“You hear that, Spirit? He is going to take very good care of you.”

After turning his horse over to the stable hand, Matt found a board stretched across the street, and though it didn’t keep the rain off him, it did keep him out of the muck and mud. Reaching the boardwalk on the other side of the street, he walked down to the Casa del Sol Cantina.

Inside the cantina, a long board of wooden pegs was nailed along one wall about six feet from the floor. Matt dumped the water from the crown of his hat, then hung his slicker on one of the pegs to let it drip dry. A careful scrutiny of the saloon disclosed a card game in progress near the back. At one of the front tables, there was some earnest conversation. Three men stood at the bar, each complete within themselves, concentrating only on their drinks and private thoughts. A soiled dove, near the end of her professional effectiveness, overweight, with bad teeth and wild, unkempt hair, stood at the far end. She smiled at Matt, but getting no encouragement, stayed put.

“What’ll it be, mister? the bartender asked, making a swipe across the bar with a sour-smelling cloth.

“Whiskey, then a beer,” Matt said. He figured to drink the whiskey to warm himself from the chill of the rain, then drink the beer for his thirst. The whiskey was set before him and he raised it to his lips, then tossed it down. He could feel its raw burn all the way to his stomach. When the beer was served, he picked it up, then turned his back to the bar for a more leisurely survey of the room.

Ascertaining that there was nothing here that represented an immediate threat, he turned back to the bartender.

“I’m looking for Moses Schuler,” Matt said. “I’m told I might find him here.”

“Why do you want Schuler?”

“That’s between Schuler and me,” Matt said.

“You the law?”

“Schuler,” Matt said again without answering the question.

“We don’t care much for the law around here,” the bartender said.

Suddenly, Matt reached his left hand across the bar and grabbed the collar of the bartender’s shirt. He twisted it into a knot that put pressure on the bartender’s neck, making it hard for him to breathe.

“Mister, I’ve ridden half a day in a driving rainstorm,” Matt said. “I’m in no mood for games. I’m going to ask you one more time where I can find Schuler. If you don’t answer me, I am going to break your neck, then find someone who will answer me.”

To illustrate his point, Matt twisted the collar even tighter, so tight now that when the bartender tried to talk, it came out as an unintelligible rattle.

Matt eased up just enough to allow the bartender to speak.

“I’ll see if I can find him,” the bartender said.

“I appreciate that,” Matt replied.

“Juan,” the bartender called.

A Mexican boy in his teens stepped out of the back room. He was wearing an apron and holding a broom.

“Sí, señor?” the boy replied.

“You seen Schuler around?”

“Sí, señor. He is sleeping in the back room,” Juan answered.

“Get ’im out here. There’s someone who wants talk to ’im.”

“I will try, señor. Maybe I cannot wake him up,” Juan said. “He is sleeping very hard.”

“Sleeping, or passed out?” the bartender asked.

“I think maybe he is passed out,” Juan replied.

The bartender poured a drink into a glass, then slid it down the bar toward Juan. “Give him this,” he said. “Tell ’im there’s someone out here that wants to buy him another drink. That’ll bring him out.” The bartender looked at Matt. “You will buy him a drink, won’t you?”

“Yes,” Matt said. “Give me a bottle.”

The bartender handed Matt a bottle, Matt took it, looked over at Juan, then pointed to an empty table. “I’ll be over there, Juan,” he said. “Bring him to me.”

“Sí.”

Juan disappeared into the back room. After a long moment, a bent, white-haired man came out of the room. At first, Matt was about to say this wasn’t the one he was looking for. This man looked nothing like the robber he had seen in the express car. But as he studied him more closely, he saw that this was, indeed, the same man. Dispirited, but the same man.

“Someone is going to buy me a drink?” Schuler asked.

“That man over there, señor,” Juan said. He pointed to the table where Matt was sitting, and Schuler shuffled over toward him, unabashedly scratching his crotch as he did so. Matt had rarely seen a man who had come down as far as Schuler had since the last time he saw him. Schuler needed a shave, and his clothes reeked of stale whiskey and sour vomit. How could this be? Didn’t Schuler get his share from the robbery?

Schuler pointed at Matt with a shaking finger.

“Do I know you?” he asked. “Who are you?”

“I am a friend of Jennie Schuler,” Matt said.

Schuler looked at Matt for a moment, as if trying to process what he had just heard.

“Anyone who has money is a friend of Jennie Schuler,” he said. “She is a whore.”

“I am also the man that’s going to buy you a drink,” Matt answered. He poured whiskey into a glass, then slid it across the table toward Schuler.

“What—what do I have to do for it?”

“Just give me a little information,” Matt said. “That’s all.”

“Information? I don’t know anything about anything,” Schuler said quietly.

“Oh, you know something about what I want,” Matt said. Matt reached out to pick up the glass, then began pouring it back in the bottle.

“Wait!” Schuler said. “What do you want to know?”

“First, let me ask you something. With all the money you got from the train robbery, why are you having to beg for drinks now? Have you already spent it all?”

“I don’t have any money. Paco cheated me out of—” Schuler started to say, then he stopped in mid-sentence. “What money?” he asked.

“The money you got cheated out of,” Matt said. “That is what you were about to say, isn’t it? That Paco cheated out of your share of the money from the train robbery?”

“What train robbery?” Schuler said. “I don’t know anything about any train robbery.”

“Don’t lie to me, Schuler,” Matt said. “I don’t like being lied to. I know you took part in the train robbery because I was there. I was on the train when it wrecked.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Oh, but it does. It means that you, Odom, Paco, and Bates are guilty of murder.”

“I didn’t murder anyone,” Schuler said.

“If you are talking about the deputy, I know you didn’t shoot him. I know that he was shot by Cletus Odom.”

Schuler’s eyes opened wide in surprise. “How do you know that?” he asked.

“I told you,” Matt said. “I was there. I saw it. I was in the express car when you and the others came in. I saw everything, Schuler. I’m talking about all the people who were killed when you and the others wrecked the train. I’m talking about a little four-year-old girl who was traveling with her mother and her brother. Do you know what happened to that little girl?”

Schuler was quiet for a long moment. “I ain’t got any of the money,” he said. “Like I said, Paco stole it.”

“I don’t care about the money,” Matt said.

“You don’t care about the money?”

“No.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I want Odom,” Matt said.

“There are three others,” Schuler said.

“No, there is only one other.”

“You are forgetting Paco and Bates.”

“I’m not forgetting them,” Matt said. “They are dead.”

“Dead?”

“I killed them both,” Matt said calmly.

Schuler made no response, but looked at the bottle and empty glass on the table. Matt waited for a long moment, then refilled the glass and slid it across the table toward Schuler.

Schuler reached out with a trembling hand—picked up the glass—spilled some, then, steadying it with his other hand, drank it down in one swallow.

“Where is Odom?” Kyle asked.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re lying,” Matt said matter-of-factly. “What are you afraid of, Schuler?”

“Nothin’,” Schuler answered. “I don’t know where he is, that’s all.”

“You do know, don’t you, Schuler?”

Schuler held his empty glass out, and Matt refilled it.

“Don’t be afraid,” Matt said. “I’m here.”

“You’re here?” Schuler said. He tried to laugh, but it came out as a weak bark. “So, you’re goin’ to protect me if he comes for me? There’s not one man in ten who wouldn’t pee in his pants if he comes face-to-face with Cletus Odom.”

“You think that’s what I would do, Schuler? You think I would pee in my pants?”

“I don’t know,” Schuler said. “Who are you?”

“Doesn’t matter who I am,” Matt replied. “You know where he is, don’t you?” he asked.

“What if I do?” Schuler asked. He tossed down the second drink.

“Tell me where to find him,” Matt said.

“I can’t,” Schuler said.

Matt slid the bottle of whiskey toward him. “Forget about the glass. I’ll give you the whole bottle.”

“Not for a bottle, not even for a case of whiskey will I tell. What good is whiskey to a dead man?”

“Schuler, I want you to think about something,” Matt said quietly.

“Think about what?”

“You are afraid of the wrong man. Odom isn’t here.”

“That doesn’t matter. If I tell you how to find him, then he’ll find me.”

“I’ve already found you,” Matt said.

“What?”

“Think about it,” Matt said. “I found Bates, and I killed him. I found Paco, I killed him. When I find Odom, I will kill him.” He paused for a long moment. “And like I said, I found you.”

“I—I’m afraid,” Schuler said, his voice so quiet that he could barely be heard.

“You should be afraid,” Matt said.

“Yeah,” a patron at a nearby table said, laughing. Ever since Schuler had come out of the back room, the patron had been watching and listening to the conversation. “Like the man said, he’s scared of—” the laughter died in his throat when he saw the expression on Matt’s face. It wasn’t one of passion, or even cold fury. He wasn’t sure what he saw—maybe something in Matt’s eyes. But he felt the hackles stand up on the back of his neck as he realized he was looking into the face of death. “My God, Schuler, he means it,” the patron said quietly.

The patron’s words stopped everyone in the room as if there had been a gunshot. A nearby card game came to a halt, the three men at the bar turned around, the bartender stopped polishing glasses, and there was a deadly silence in the room.

The clock ticked loudly.

Schuler’s bottom lip began trembling and a line of spittle ran down his chin.

“Now, I’m going to ask you again, Schuler. And I want you to think about it. And while you’re thinking, I want you to know that I’m here and Odom isn’t. Tell me what you know, or I will kill you where you sit.”

Schuler drew a deep breath and held his hands up. “All right, all right, I was with them, just like you said. But I didn’t know they was goin’ to be a lot of people killed. I wouldn’t of had nothin’ to do with it if I had known there was goin’ to be a lot of innocent people killed.”

“I know. I was there, in the express car, remember? I heard you tell Odom that you didn’t know that he planned to kill anyone. In fact, if I hadn’t heard you talking to Odom, I would’ve already killed you by now.”

“Just so’s you know,” Schuler said.

“Where can I find him?”

“Why you lookin’ for him? Why are you doin this? You ain’t the law, are you?”

“No. This is personal. One of the people killed was a little girl, about four years old. One minute she was riding on the train with her mother and brother, and the next minute the train wrecked and a large stake was driven through her heart.”

“No!” Schuler said. He closed his eyes and began shaking. “I didn’t know about the little girl,” he said. “I didn’t know about any of them.”

“Where is Odom?” Matt asked again.

“You got any money?”

“Why?”

“If I give you any information, I’m going to need enough money to get out of here. My life won’t be worth a plugged nickel if Odom finds out I told you where to find him.”

“How can I find him?”

Schuler poured himself a glass of whiskey before he spoke again. He drank it, then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

“It’s goin’ to cost you fifty dollars.”

Matt pulled fifty dollars from his pocket and handed it over. “All right. Here’s you money. Now, start talking.”

“Do you know Odom?” Schuler asked, taking the money and stuffing it down into his pocket. “I mean, do you really know him?”

“No.”

“Well, he’s real crazy,” Schuler said. “I’ve never known anyone before who likes killing, but Odom actually likes it. They say he killed his first man when he was fifteen. They’s been others that’s killed for the first time when they was only fifteen, but the man Odom killed was his own pa.”

“Where will I find him?”

Schuler took another drink of whiskey. The whiskey had a somewhat calming effect, and he put the bottle down, this time without the shakes.

“Did you hear what I said? The first man he killed was his own pa.”

“I heard.”

“You’ll find him in Purgatory,” Schuler said.

“What makes you think he’s gone to Purgatory?”

“The marshal there is a fella by the name of Cummins,” Schuler said. “Him ’n’ Odom is brothers.”

“Brothers?”

“They don’t have the same name ’cause they got different papas, but they got the same mama. And after Odom killed his own pa, he moved in with his mama, Cummins, and Cummins’s papa.”

“Thank you,” Matt said.

“Don’t be thanking me,” he said. “If you are going to Purgatory after Odom, you are going to have to deal with Cummins and all his deputies. And you might find out you’ve bitten off more than you can chew.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Matt said. “I’m going.”

“To face all of them?”

“Yes.”

“That’s bold talk, Matt Jensen,” another voice said.

Jensen? Who knew that he was Matt Jensen?

Turning slowly, Matt saw a big man with gray hair and a sweeping mustache leaning against the wall. The man’s arms were folded across his chest. He, like everyone else in the room, had been listening to the conversation. He let his arms drop by his side, with one hand hovering near his pistol. When he did so, it revealed that he was wearing the star of a U.S. marshal.

Matt moved his own hand into position to draw.

The tension in the room grew palpable, and everyone moved out of the way of what they were sure was an impending gunfight.

“You are Marshal Kyle, aren’t you?” Matt asked. “We met at the train wreck.”

“Yes, we met there,” Kyle said. “But I believe you were telling people your name was Cavanaugh then.”

“My name is Cavanaugh,” Matt said.

Kyle shook his head. “No sense in lying about it now. I know that you are Matt Jensen.”

Matt nodded. “Yes, I am Matt Jensen,” he said. “But Cavanaugh is the name I was born with.”

Kyle chuckled. “Well now, this can be a little confusing,” he said.

“Marshal, I didn’t cause that train wreck, I didn’t kill Deputy Hayes, and I didn’t steal any money,” Matt said.

“Odom killed the deputy,” Schuler said, speaking quickly.

“You say Odom killed the deputy?” Kyle asked.

“Yes.”

Kyle nodded. “I suspected that,” he said. “I appreciate the confirmation.” He looked back at Matt. “You don’t deny killing Deputy Gillis, do you?”

“I killed him,” Matt said, without further clarification.

“Gillis drew first?”

“He tried to,” Matt replied and, inexplicably, Kyle laughed.

“That’s a good way of putting it,” Kyle said. “Now, about your going to Purgatory…” He let the sentence hang.

“I’m going,” Matt said resolutely.

“Oh, I’m sure you are going,” Kyle said. “I’m going with you.”

“Well, Marshal, I appreciate your interest, but I prefer to do this alone.”

“Oh, don’t misunderstand me, Matt Jensen,” Kyle said. “I’m not asking for permission to come with you. On the contrary, I’m giving you permission to go with me.”

“You are giving me permission?”

“Let’s say, I’m asking you to come with me,” Kyle corrected. “As a deputy U.S. marshal.”

“Wait a minute. You are going to make me your deputy?”

“As a temporary thing,” Kyle replied. “Just until we get Purgatory cleaned up.”

“But I don’t understand. What about the other thing?” Matt asked.

“What other thing?” Kyle replied. Then, suddenly, he smiled broadly and reached into his shirt pocket. “Oh, you must be talking about this.” He walked over to hand the paper to Matt.

“What is this?”

“Read it,” Kyle said. “If you have any questions, I’ll explain it. Though, how difficult is it to understand a full governor’s pardon?”