“My wife made the last ten rooms at the end of the hall ready. I’m afraid the five at the far end are none too big, we don’t usually get more than a couple visitors at a time here at the lodge.” The innkeeper’s voice was apologetic as he spoke over his shoulder, gesturing down the long hallway.
“No problem, Elijah, thank you very much for your kindness.” Jesse was about to move around the man and down towards the rooms when a thought occurred to him and he turned back. “Which room is the wounded man in, sir, so that we might not disturb him?”
Elijah smiled and nodded. “That’s right kind of you, son. The young man is in the room at the top of the stairs, so as far from you and your friends as possible. But judging from their demeanor, I’d venture to guess that your friends won’t be kicking up too much of a fracas tonight.”
Jesse shook his head. “No, probably not. Thanks, sir. We’ll see you in the morning?”
“Indeed, young man.G’night. Feel free to lower the lamps when you’re ready to retire.” Elijah nodded once more and turned back down the hallway.
Jesse waited until the old man was gone before he gestured for Frank and the Youngers to join him in the nearest room. They went in to find a single bed, nicely made, and a small bedside table. A small desk with a pitcher of water and a basin was against the far wall. A well-made chair sat before the desk. Jesse gestured for the men to relax as he looked out the door and made sure his men were settling into their rooms. There was a quick, whispered commotion over who would be sleeping where, and then things settled down. Jesse carefully closed the door and turned back to the five other men.
“This place strikin’ anyone else as strange?” He scanned their faces and found in every one a disquiet matching his own.
“What kind’a hotel has this many rooms, this far out into the middle o’ nowhere?” Bob Younger, the youngest of the brothers, had leaned against the wall behind the desk.
“An’ I’m not buyin’ the soft solder the old man’s given’ us, neither.” Cole, as the eldest, was usually the most outspoken, although his vicious sense of humor also meant he was probably taken the least seriously.
This time, however, Jesse could only nod. “Yeah, an’ I’m not sure about this yahoo down the hall, but I’m thinkin’ we need to at least peek in on him before we vamanos in the morning.”
Frank nodded, but his face was worried. “I don’t think we want to raise a fuss here, Jesse. Somethin’ about this little burg don’t add up, an’ I’m not thinkin’ things go in our favor if they go south.”
Jesse rested a boot on the chair, articulated wrists crossed over one knee, as he stared out the small window at the silent street below. “I’m feelin’ exactly what you’re feelin’, Frank. We gotta flow smoothly through this little bug hill, settle quietly, and move on. We still don’t know what’s waitin’ for us out at Diablo Canyon, an’ we can’t get wrapped up in this no whorehouse town and its peculiarities.” He looked over at his brother and the Youngers. “I’d say we bunk down, get up with the cows, visit our friend down the hall, and leave a nice pile o’ notes for old Elijah before we skedaddle.”
The men nodded and began to file out of the room. Jesse’s arm struck out to snag Frank’s sleeve before he left, and Cole, in the back of the pack of Youngers, nodded and closed the door behind them.
“There’s somethin’ more than strange about this whole place, Frank. Go back ‘round to the boys and set up a watch through the night. I need you and Cole and the boys sharp, so keep the watches two men, by room, and keep it to the younger men.” Frank nodded and turned towards the door, but Jesse jerked gently on the sleeve to turn him again. “The younger boys we can trust, though, Frank. None o’ the shavetails.”
Frank shook his head. “You mean like young Ty? Why we got boys we can’t count on to watch our sleepin’ backs at all, I don’t know, Jesse. But you’re the boss.” He turned to go, then looked back at his younger brother. “See you in the mornin’?”
Jesse gave one sharp snap of his chin. “No doubt. See you in the mornin’.”
After the other men had left Jesse shrugged off his duster and draped it over the chair, moving towards the small window. Below, the street was still and dark. Most of the houses around them still had the odd window lit, but there was no movement to be seen.
Despite his exhaustion, Jesse spent a long time at the window before settling into the bed with his boots still on.
*****
The interior of the Judgment wagon was not conducive to clear thinking, and as Wyatt braced himself against the constant rolling motion by grabbing an iron rung near his jump seat, he shook his head in frustration. The passenger compartment was small, and when you took into account the four UR-30 units that usually sat immobile in their harnesses along the walls, alongside Virgil and Doc, and the emotional crowding of Morgan’s immense form taking up the cramped jail cell, he did not think the conditions could have been much different from those suffered by the slaves brought over packed ass to teakettle in the slaver ships from Africa.
The fact that two of the UR-30s were currently pacing along in front of the Judgment made the crowded situation slightly more tolerable, but the sound still pounded in his ears, the nearly unbearable heat churning up from the engine beneath them still steamed up through the air, and the placid look on his younger brother’s pale face behind the heavy iron bars drew his constant and distressing attention. One good thing about the infernal machine, however: it was so loud inside, there was no way anyone could try to engage him in casual conversation.
They had been dragging the heavy machine across the trails for more than four days now. Wyatt knew any band riding Iron Horses would be making far better time, and so the chances of the lawmen getting to Diablo Canyon in time to stop whatever was going to happen there was slim. But he also knew something he believed the outlaw scum did not know about their own agile vehicles: all RJ-1027 machinery left behind a trail when it was used at high power. Not a trail visible to the human eye, and not even something that a normal person could smell, or feel, or track on their own. It turned out there was something that could track that trail, though, and that was the UR-30 Enforcer units.
Right then, two of the units were ranging ahead of the Judgment and its flanking Hogs. Their cyclopean eyes had been adjusted to see the faint RJ-1027 trail, slashing bright columns of visible red light out in front of them like the lighthouses of his childhood on foggy nights. Wherever the red beam made contact with an RJ-1027 trail, the trail suddenly became visible as a glittering ruby path hovering eerily about a foot off the ground.
Wyatt pulled himself up to peer out one of the forward observation ports and checked the Enforcer units at work. Sure enough, the trail ahead of them was still glowing with heavy red tracks left behind by a large band riding RJ-1027 vehicles. He grunted in satisfaction and sat back down on the wooden seat. He flashed a quick grin at Virgil, who was keeping busy cleaning a large hand cannon he had acquired from a Union officer a while back. Doc was sitting upright against the iron wall of the compartment, swaying with the motion of the vehicle, and gave Wyatt a slight, tired smile from above his breathing mask. Wyatt nodded and then settled back to his own meditations.
It seemed like it was only a few minute further down the trail before the Judgment rolled to a halt and the driver let the engine idle down to a dull rumble. Wyatt leapt up to thrust his head onto the driver’s deck and shouted, “Why the hell’ve we stopped? Don’t you boys know nothin’ ‘bout the concept of hurryin’?”
“Sir, the UR-30s have stopped. I… I don’t think they’re sure what to do.” The driver shouted down at the Over-marshal, his thick goggles giving him an alien look.
Wyatt cursed under his breath and threw his weight against the closest side hatch, throwing it open to crash against the armored flank. He swung himself through the hatch, grabbed the access ladder half way down, and leapt the rest of the way, landing lightly on his feet with his duster flaring around his legs.
“What in the Sam Hill is going on out here?” Wyatt stalked forwards to where the two robots had stopped moving nearly altogether. Only a slight swaying from side to side differentiated them from strange ancient statues set to guard the road from otherworldly threats. At the Over-marshal’s voice, both metal heads swiveled to home in on his approaching figure, their bodies pivoting to follow the alignment.
“Current trail has deviated from expected parameters.” The buzzing voice of one of the units said. Wyatt felt his shoulders rise slightly. He could never abide those strange voices, or the uncomfortable harmonics they seemed to set up in his chest.
“What does that mean?” Speaking with the Enforcer units often took more patience that dealing with Virgil’s least gifted deputies.
“It means these wily coyotes are slippin’ north instead of continuing up the straight trail towards Diablo Canyon.” Virgil leapt down off the access ladder, catching himself with slightly less grace than his younger brother. Virgil pointed to where the trail diverged just ahead of them. “Point your damned headlamps back that way.”
Wyatt watched as the lamp beams switched back on and tracked across the intersection. It was clearly visible where one trail, the heavier of the two, moved off onto the overgrown trail to the left. Another trail, weaker or more faded, continued up towards Diablo Canyon.
“Damn.” Wyatt stared at the revealed trails, hands on hips. “Well what the hell does that mean?”
“We knew there was something odd with the trail for the last couple of days, Wyatt.” Virgil turned to his brother. “You remember, there was a clear trail moving out of Kansas City towards Diablo Canyon, but then, two days ago, a trail came up out of the west and joined this one?” He nodded towards the intersection. “Looks like some of them took a sharp left here.”
“But which is which, damnit, Virg?” Wyatt flung one arm towards the enigmatic trails. “And where the hell does this left hand fork go?”
Doc emerged from the side hatch to sit on it, one leg dangling out, while he unfolded a faded old map. “Well, Wyatt, that there looks to be Mary Lake Trail. Nothin’ up that’a way but a little settlement o’ religious folks, calls itself Sacred Lake.”
Wyatt scuffed his heel against the dust of the trail. “Godamn whoreson sumbitch! So, whoever it is, they’re headed straight for a bunch of gospel slingers?”
Doc folded the map swiftly and jumped down to the ground. “Looks it. And from the trail, looks like it was either more recent than the other group of tracks, or much, much larger.”
All of the men were completely still as they all stared at the Over-marshal, waiting for him to process the situation and make the call. Would they be continuing on after Jesse James, or would they be taking the left fork, and face whatever unknown threat had headed down that way so recently? Wyatt cursed again as he realized there was only one real choice.
“Damnit!” Wyatt ripped his hat from his head and smacked it against his hip. He stood still for a moment, bringing his breath back under control, and gestured to the left hand trail. “Well, we can’t leave those folks to whoever left those trails. Virgil, get five of your deputies into the Lynch Wagon. We’ll be takin’ their Hogs and the rest of the Interceptors and go on ahead at top speed. Two of the UR-30s will come with us. We need to try to get as much force there as possible, as quickly as possible.”
Virgil rattled off five names and four deputies dismounted. The old lawman sensed something was amiss and turned back to find the fifth man looking at him stubbornly, refusing to release the steering handles of his Hog.
“Provencher, get down off your vehicle as ordered.” Virgil’s voice was hard, his eyes steady.
The deputy shook his head. “No, sir! This here’s my vehicle! I ain’t getting’ off it, an’ you can’t make me! I earned my place on this mission, an’—“
Provencher hit the dirt before the blow that put him there had even registered. He scrambled up onto his backside, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth. It came away bloody. He looked at the crimson smear in disbelief.
“You hit me! You can’t—“
“Provencher, you are the worst excuse for an officer of the law I have ever seen.” Virgil towered over the whining man, hands on hips. “You will go where you are ordered to go, you will do what you are ordered to do, and we will not be sharing these words again. Have I made myself clear?”
The young man looked up at the legendary lawman and sputtered. He pointed at the other deputies still mounted on their vehicles. “But how come they don’t—“
Virgil crouched down beside the cringing figure so fast the man cowered back, fearing another blow. “You wanna know why they ain’t givin’ up their rides, son? You wanna know why I’m puttin’ you in the big iron box? Because if things go south when we hit this little town up ahead, there ain’t a single one of them that I wouldn’t trust at my back. An’ you? You’re no better than a player piano at a round up when it comes to thirsty work.” He looked up at the four men who had moved towards the Judgment without comment. “And before you think about sowing dissent among the other four men that’ll be joinin’ you, they’re there to keep an eye on your sorry behind, an’ make sure you don’t cock anything up in the big iron box. You got all that, deputy?”
Provencher nodded, his eyes dark with resentment.
“Good. Now, you go on back, mount up, and follow behind. Maybe we can forget this little unpleasantness ever happened, eh?” Virgil stood and walked away without offering a hand up.
Provencher watched the old man, his head shaking slightly. He pushed himself up out of the dust and moved sullenly towards the wagon.
The deputies shuffled themselves quickly, with Wyatt, Virgil, and Doc joining the two lamp-eyed UR-30s on the newly-dismounted Interceptors while the deputies clambered up the access ladder, a sullen Provencher pulling up the ladder last.
“Man that fire hose, boys,” Wyatt gestured at the massive Gatling gun mounted on the copula of the vehicle. “Anything other than us comes down this road as you’re followin’, you light ‘em up. You got that?”
One of the deputies thrust his body up through the top hatch and gave the Over-marshal a thumbs-up as he did a quick check of the weapon’s mechanisms and feeds.
“Okay, boys, no restin’ till we fetch up on Sacred Lake, right?” Wyatt pulled a pair of goggles from a wide pocket in his duster, slipped them over his head, then returned his hat to its customary place. “We can’t go slow enough for the UR-30s to be on the lookout for the trail, so we gotta use our old fashioned eyes till we get to town. Let’s go.”
The Hogs rolled out, the roar of their engines rebounding off the low hills as Wyatt and his men opened them up, tearing down the trail at full speed.
Behind them, the Judgment rolled back into motion, its own engine setting the entire landscape to rumbling with its power.
Chapter 11
The RJ-1027 pocket watch in Jesse’s vest beeped gently, dragging him out of the abused torpor of exhausted, haunted sleep. He snapped awake, staring blankly at the cold white ceiling before he rolled off the bed. He rested his forearms on his knees, reorienting himself with his strange surroundings. The window showed nothing but black emptiness; the distant sound of crickets the only noise he heard. Moving as quietly as he could, Jesse gathered his things and crossed the hall, knocking gently. The door opened silently on the second knock and Cole and Frank stepped out, nodding as Jesse raised a single finger to his lips.
The three men moved carefully down the hall. The air was still warm, but much cooler than when they had arrived. They came to the door at the top of the stairs and the intricate metalwork of Jesse’s hand wrapped softly around the knob, testing it. The knob turned with a soft click, and the outlaw boss looked back at the other two men, nodded, and turned it the rest of the way.
Inside, the room was much the same as the others, with a single bed and a few small pieces of furniture. There was an elaborate cross on the wall that recalled the symbol fr
om the Lodge’s sign again, but Jesse had no time to spare for the oddity of the decorations as his eyes settled on the man asleep in the bed.
“I’ll be damned… “ Frank’s whisper was harsh. “Bennett Vaughn.”
“The rat bastard.” Jesse moved up to the wounded man’s bedside and glared down at him.
“Well, you warned him what’d happen if you ran into him again, Jesse.” Cole’s voice was soft but his eyes were alight with anticipation.
Jesse shook his head. “Bastard’s been riding with Billy the Kid for more’n a year now, Cole.” His eyes flicked up to the other two men. “’N no one else. How much you wanna wager, these friends Elijah was talkin’ ‘bout last night was Billy an’ his boys?”
“Well, you was wonderin’ what to do next, Jesse.” Frank tipped his chin towards the wounded man. “Ask and ye shall receive, as I don’t doubt Elijah would say.”
Jesse grinned at his brother and took a knee beside the bed. He reached out with one mechanical hand and clapped it suddenly and firmly over the wounded man’s mouth. Above the armor the eyes popped open, a cry stifled by the metal and rubber shoved against his face.
“G’mornin’, sunshine.” Jesse’s smile was fierce as he leaned down over the wounded man. “Fancy meetin’ you out here in the middle o’ nowhere, eh?”
There was a sudden sharp click and a buzz as Frank activated his blaster pistol, its red tell-tales flaring in the dark room. Over the skeletal hand, the man’s panicked eyes darted from Jesse’s face, to the pistol, and back again.
“Now, Bennett, my friend, this can go one of several ways,” Jesse’s voice was reasonable and steady, still pitched too low to carry into the hall outside. “But I’m only goin’ to give you one option. You’re gonna talk, an’ we’re gonna listen, and then we’re gonna leave you here with these nice Biblical folks, cuz we don’t want no trouble with them, right?”
The Jessie James Archives Page 23