Free Brotherhood of Evil by William W. Johnstone Page B

on the hardwood.
    Zeke used the cheroot as a pointer. “Take that over to your friends. Trask will be down when he’s good and ready, I suppose.”
    The gunman nodded. “Obliged. What do I owe you?”
    â€œIf you’re one of Trask’s men, nothing. He’s taking care of it.”
    â€œWell, that’s, uh, mighty decent of him.”
    Zeke’s mouth quirked a little. He didn’t think anybody would use the words mighty decent to describe Jonas Trask very often.
    As the newcomers passed around the bottle, Zeke returned to his table. Movement on the staircase caught his eye and he looked in that direction. The redhead was hurrying down from the second floor. She was still pale.
    Lord knew what she had seen up there in Trask’s room.
    The man himself sauntered out onto the balcony a moment later and rested his hands on the railing as he looked down and smiled. There was no denying that Jonas Trask was a handsome man with his fine-boned face, his piercing blue eyes, and his shock of black hair. He wore a good suit, a white shirt, and a string tie. The saloon grew quieter as he stood there, and after a few seconds all the noise died away entirely.
    In a powerful, resonant voice, he said, “I hear you’re looking for me, Joseph.”
    The gunman who wasn’t wounded swallowed. “Uh, yes, sir, I reckon.” He waved a hand at his companions. “Green and Larson are wounded—”
    â€œYes, I can see that,” Trask interrupted. “Can they make it upstairs?”
    â€œYeah, I reckon.”
    â€œCome on up, then. I’m sure we have a great deal to talk about.” He turned and disappeared back into his room.
    Joe and the other two gunmen stood up and went to the stairs. They started up, their tread slow and hesitant.
    Zeke had seen men walk that same way when they were climbing the steps to the gallows.

Chapter 16
    Halfway up the stairs, Joe Kiley gave serious consideration to turning around, dashing out of the saloon, jumping on his horse, and riding away as fast as he could. Green and Larson could damn well fend for themselves.
    Trask had promised all his men a big payoff, though. It was hard for Joe to balance saving his own hide against maybe being a rich man. Rich by his own lights, anyway, which wouldn’t take all that much since he’d never really had anything to speak of except a horse, an old saddle, and a gun.
    So he kept climbing, with one hand on Green’s arm to steady him because of the bad leg. In the two days it had taken to get there, the bullet hole in Green’s thigh had started to fester. Green was worried that the leg might have to come off. Joe figured that was a real possibility. He was pretty damn sure Larson’s arm was going to have to go. It was beginning to swell and turn black.
    The door to Trask’s room was open. They were a sorry-looking bunch as they went inside.
    The rooms at Zeke’s were nothing fancy, but somehow Jonas Trask made any room he was in seem at least a little elegant. He stood beside a long table with a piece of canvas draped over it, holding a snifter of brandy. He swirled the amber liquid slightly as he smiled again. “Come in, gentlemen. Come in.”
    Green limped in, followed by Larson.
    Joe brought up the rear. Too late to run now, he told himself. He remembered his pa reading stories from the Bible when he was a kid . . . especially the one about some hombres who’d found themselves in a lion’s den. That was sort of the way he felt.
    With his foot, Trask pushed a ladderback chair closer to them. “William, you should get off your feet. Sit down.”
    Green, whose first name was Bill, shook his head. “I reckon I’m all right, boss. Larson here is in worse shape than I am.”
    â€œWell, then, you should sit down, Charles,” Trask told Larson. “You do look a bit puny, I must say.”
    Larson lowered himself onto the chair, being