wrinkled face filled with rage. Simpson needed the grandsonâs help to negotiate the steps. Finally, the two old enemies stood face to face.
âBlake, I warned you never to come back,â the old man shouted. âIâll see you dead this time.â
âYouâve done your warninâ, old man,â Blake said, never flinching. âI told you somethinâ, too. I told you to leave my family be. If you need to blame somebody for your boy beinâ a murderer, then blame me. Hannah never caused you pain.â
âSheâs a Blake,â Simpson said, spitting on the rich carpet of the hotel. âThatâs enough. And she gave birth to two Blake pups.â
âLook, Simpson, eight years ago you came to me and asked me to be sheriff of this town. You asked me to swear to uphold the laws. You didnât say anythinâ about lookinâ the other way when your boy shot a judge in cold blood right in the middle of Front Street.â
âThat judge was a carpetbagger, a thief. He was no betterân a snake. You shoot snakes.â
âHe was a man, no better or worse in the eyes of the law than Henry Simpson or Caulfield Blake. I didnât ask for that badge. You and the others, you put it all on me. Then when the soldiers came and expected justice, you turned away. Afterward your brave bunch of men came after me.â
âYou hung my son, Mattâs father.â
The young man glared at Blake. A trace of viciousness appeared in the corner of his eyes.
âI helped execute a killer. He had a fair trial before a jury of his peers. You could have appealed.â
âTo Yankees? To the same men who killed two of my boys at Selma?â
âI fought in the war, too, remember? I didnât sit behind a desk and call myself colonel when the smoke cleared.â
The comment brought a shiver of rage to the old manâs face. Blake only smiled.
âYouâve been warned, Blake,â Simpson shouted. âThe next time you show your face in this town, someoneâll put a bullet through it right in between your eyes!â
âOh?â Blake asked, chuckling. âYou think maybe you can pay someone a few hundred dollars to do that? Or will you face me yourself? Why wait? Why not right now?â
Young Matt started toward Blake, but his grandfather held him back. Then the sheriff walked through the door, a Winchester rifle in his hands. Blake moved aside and let the lawman take over.
âI think itâs best you leave,â the sheriff said to Blake. âColonel, maybe you ought to have a little rest. You seem a bit flushed.â
Simpson smiled.
âYou remember what I said, Blake!â the old man shouted.
âOh, I will,â Blake told him. âAnd you keep in mind that I wonât look kindly on you troublinâ Hannah and the boys.â
Before the old man could say anything more, Blake turned and slipped quietly out of the hotel. He soon spotted his horse at a watering trough in front of the Palace Saloon. He walked cautiously the hundred yards to the horse, accepted the reins from Charlie, and climbed into the saddle.
âTell Dix to come see me,â Blake told the boy. âAnd tell him to keep a weather eye out for Simpson. The old manâs capable of anythinâ.â
âYes, sir,â Charlie said.
Blake then turned the horse toward the far end of town and began the five-mile ride to the Bar Double B. Home. For the first time since arriving in town he trembled.
Chapter Four
Blake rode along the dusty road almost without thinking. The seven years heâd been away had not erased the memories accumulated in a lifetime of riding those hills. He passed the oak grove where heâd asked Hannah to be his wife. He paused near Silerâs Hollow to recall the times heâd chased Dix and Marty Cabot through the high grasses. But the hollow was now flooded by an ocean of water. And Carpenter Creek . . .