by W. R. Benton
“Oh, and how did he die?”
“Shotgun blast to the belly, two barrels and he's dead as hell. You favor a shotgun, don't ya, reverend?”
“I surely do, and in town nothing is better. Why?”
“I need to see your scatter-gun.”
“You don't think I, a man of faith, had anything to do with this killing, do you?”
“I don't know what to think, but you are the first preacher I've met that carries twin holsters filled with Colts, carries a shotgun, and drinks whiskey. Either you pull your shotgun, or I will, sir.”
Laughing, Lew pulled his Greener and holding it barrel up, handed it to the deputy.
The deputy popped the breech open, removed both shells and smelled the barrels. He then inserted the shells and snapped the breech shut. He handed the weapon back to Lew and said, “Nice and c lean gun this mornin', huh?”
“I don't know about you, but you'll find every gun I'm carrying cleaned, and I clean 'em all just before any long trip. I don't need to be traveling and have a gun fail me. It's an old habit I picked up in the army. More than once, I think, it's saved my ass.”
Eyeing Lew suspiciously the deputy asked, “Where were you this evening?”
“In the hotel where I slept, after I returned from taking April Gunn home. Her husband, Charles, killed himself earlier today. Ask Billy about it, because he was the deputy on duty then. I got back from her place a little after midnight, had a couple of drinks in the hotel saloon, and went to bed. At some point I heard a loud boom, figured we had rain coming, so I got up to start my trip early. As you can see, I even have my fish out, but there ain't a cloud in the sky.”
“What time did you hear the boom?”
“I ain't got no idea and I'm not real sure of the time right now. I know I checked out of the hotel a little after three, by the big clock they had hanging on the wall. See, my watch quit working a couple of days back and there ain't any clocks in the hotel rooms. I forget to wind it and this happens all the time. Now, is there anything else you need? I need to be moving East.”
Meeting Lew's eyes the deputy replied, “No, this is enough. I had to question you, reverend, because you're the only person out this hour. However, I don't think the person who did the killing is stupid enough to be outside this time of the morning.”
Placing his foot in the stirrup, and throwing his right leg over his saddle, Lew waited until he was seated and then said, “I hope the Lord helps you discover the killer, my son, but the ways of man are cold and bloodthirsty. I'm sure in your job, you see death often.”
“Not as much as you think, but once is more than needed. Damn, the Sheriff is goin' to be pissed when he comes to work in the morning, but I've done all I can. Have a safe trip, Reverend Stoner.”
“I will, I hope, and may God shower you with his blessings. Good day.” Lew pulled his horse around and moved east, toward St. Louis.
It took all the will power he had not to leave the town at a run, instead of a l azy walk. As he moved, he avoided looking back too, no matter how badly he wanted to do the job.
Once outside of town, he moved north by west, riding toward Kansas City. He suspected at some point the escapees would move to the big city or to Omaha. West, out past Springfield, Missouri, or Omaha, Nebraska, there was little except a few trading posts and Injuns. Oh, there were towns, but most of them were small until a man made it to Taos, New Mexico, or Denver. No, the boys are in either Kansas City or Omaha, and I'll find them and when I do, with the help of the Lord, I'll kill them one by one , Lew thought as he got comfortable in his saddle.
Chapter 6
DUTCH and Bill moved for the horses as the portly man, his throat spurting blood, kicked and clawed at the dirt. They pulled three and then Bill asked, “Are you really going back for Sam?”
“I'm many things, but I'm a man of my word. You can stay here if you wish, but your guns would come in handy.”
“I'll go with you, but let's hope our boy moves fast. Ain't nothin' worse than being a bulls-eye and havin' hot lead thrown at you.”
“He'll move or I'll leave his ass. Let's ride, and now.”
Holding the reins to Sam's h orse, Dutch rode to the front door and ignored the bullets flying around like pissed off bees. The man ran from the shack mounted, gave a loud grunt, and then f ollowed the other two as they made a break for the plains. The horses of the law officers had been scattered with pistol shots, so it'd be a spell before they were rounded up.
About a mile from the shack, Samuel yelled, “Ya have to stop, I too k a bullet to the back. Hurts like a sumbitch.”
“I'll stop long enough to wrap you good to cut down the bleeding, but we need to be making tracks. Hell, they catch us now they'll string us up, because I had to knife a member of the posse to get the horses. You got your money?”
“My money's in my shirt.”
Take it out and put it in your saddlebags. I'll need you to raise your shirt so I can doctor you. Pull off to the left, in that dry stream bed.”
Bill said, “I'll stay out here, so I can keep an eye on our back trail.”
Ten minutes later, his back wrapped, Sam mounted and asked, “How's Bil l's wound?”
“He'll live, now let’s move. If we can, move toward the train tracks and see if we can flag one down.”
“Where would a train be going out here?” Sam asked.
“Away from here, and that's all that matters right now. We need some distance between us and this posse or we're dead meat.”
For over an hour they rode beside the tracks and then they heard the whistle of a train, warning them to move away from the tracks. Dutch dismounted, pulled his shirt off and began waving it. The train began to slow and the engine stopped almost even with the riders.
“I hope this ain't no robbery.” the en gineer said to Dutch.
Dutch laughed and said, “No, but we were attacked by the Sioux and want to ride to where ever you're going, so we can avoid them boys.”
“I'm going to Hell Town, boys, or the end of the track as you'd call it. I have some workers and supplies for the fellers laying the track.”
“How much to ride that far with ya, if we take our mounts?” Dutch asked.
“Dollar each and you can pay the porter.” Leaning out of the cab, he looked down the train and said, “That skinny man headed this way is my porter. He'll help y'all get your critters loaded, but you'll have to ride with 'em, 'cause all the seats are full. You pay him.”
Fifteen minutes later, as they stood in a slowly moving box car, Dutch pointed to the plains and said, “Just in time, here comes the posse.” Off in the distance small dots were seen moving.
“Oh,” Bill said, “that was too c lose. I'm thinkin' maybe I need to take up farmin'.”
“Well, you have the money to buy one hell of a big farm.”
Bill laughed and said, “I'm seriously thinkin' on doin' just that. I'm tired of runnin' all the time and if I'd kept my nose clean, I'd have already served my first sentence. Only every time I escaped and got caught, they tacked another two years on me.”
Dutch laughed and replied, “Yep, me too. Sam, move your nasty butt to me and let me treat your bullet hole. If you have a clean shirt in your saddlebags, pull it out. I don't want you getting off this train and everyone seeing your back covered in fresh blood. It'll raise questions I'd just as soon not have to answer.”
“You can't cauterize it, so let me get my sewin' kit and clean you a curved needle. You can sew both holes closed with some thread. I'll soak it all in some whiskey first.” Bill said.
Hours later, in what felt like the middle of the night, the train stopped and the porter walked the length of the train yelling, “End of the line, everyone off the train.”
Dutch and the other two woke up and, with the help of the porter, pulled their horses from the boxcar and then made their way down the middle of a small tent town. Pulling his pocket watch, Bill saw it was still early, a little after 8 pm, and the place was swingin
g. Loud cat calls were heard, an out of tune piano was being pounded by someone, and gunshots filled the air.
A partially naked soiled dove ran from a bar laughing with a lean drunk chasing her. Around and around they went until he finally caught her on the main street. Even Dutch was surprised when the man took her right then. They moved on, but the moans from the whore and grunts from the drunk were heard for a long distance.
At the end of Hell Town, Sam said, “Ain't no reason to go back through this again. It reminds me of when I was in the army. All I saw in them days was drunks, whores, and dead people.”
“I thought you liked soiled doves.” Dutch said as he pulled an expensive cigar from his coat pocket. He cut the ends with his pocketknife, struck a match on a nearby tent pole and lighted his smoke. As he puffed, he wondered how in the hell people ever got any sleep in a town like this.
Sam replied, “I hurt a mite and ain't got the urge fer no woman right now.”
“Let's get a bottle and camp outside of this place.” Bill said and then added, “I'm painin' a little, too.”
“How about you?” Dutch asked looking at Samuel.
“I just told ya I hurt like a bitch, but complainin' won't help much. I could use a stiff drink or three.”
They walked back toward the center of town and on the left was a sign that read 'saloon,' so they entered. The bar was constructed of a few one by sixes nailed to three empty whiskey barrels and Dutch knew right off the cost of running the place was low.
It was packed too, with everyone from Irish to Chinese drinking, and the five women who waited on the men were kept busy. Bellying up to the bar, Dutch said, “Three whiskeys.”
Lining up three shot glasses the fat bartender filled the glasses and said, “Three bucks.”
“Say what?” Dutch said, sure he'd misunderstood.
“Three dollars, knuckle-head.”
Paying the man, Dutch asked, “Why so much for a drink that only cost a dime back in Omaha?”
“Mister, these workers make good money working for the railroad; often they make more in a day than most men back east make in a week. We intend to get our fair share. By the way, it'll do you no good to go to another saloon either, we all charge the same.”
“Any food around here?”
“There is what passes for a restaurant here, but food is high. A bowl of beans with cornbread will run you three dollars. Any solid meat, like beef, pork, or buffalo will cost you dearly at about five dollars a plate. Ya must be new here.”
“I am, but I'll not be stayin' long, not as these prices.”
The bartender shrugged and went to washing beer glasses.
“Damn, Dutch, we can't pay the prices they want here.”
“We can, but we ain't. We'll finish these drinks, go get some beans and cornbread, and then start riding east. No one will know where we've gone and that posse won't ever find us. Finish your drinks and let's go eat.”
At the eating place, a thin homely woman of about twenty-five took their orders and moved through the crowd to get their food. Like everyplace it was packed with people coming and going. Unlike the saloon no Chinese were seen.
After the food was served, Sam said, “I cain't believe we're payin' nine dollars for three plates of beans and some hard cornbread. What the hell? I cain't move my plate.”
The man next to him laughed and said, “She's been nailed to the table top, son. Your silverware is wired to the table too, so folks don't walk off with nothin.”
“Well, I'll be damned. If this ain't somethin'.” Bill said, picked up a wired spoon, and then broke out laughing. “They must not trust anyone around here.”
The same stranger said, “They don't and iffen you're smart, you won't either. They have men here that'll cut your throat for a half dollar.”
“Hell,” Dutch said, “that's less than a drink.”
“You'd best remember that. Human life is the cheapest thing goin' in Hell Town.”
Dutch lowered his head and said, “Get to eating and then let’s get the hell out of here.”
Ten minutes later they left the tent, just as a man was w alking away with their horses. Dutch ran to the jasper and said, “Where in the hell do you think you're taking our mounts?”
“I found them loose, lad, so they be mine now.” the m an replied with a thick Irish accent.
Knowing the money was in the saddlebags and they needed their horses to leave, he replied, “That brand on these horses is mine. I ain't looking for trouble, mister, but you ain't stealing my animals.”
“If I understand you correctly, lad, you're callin' Patrick O'Brien a thief and scoundrel?”
“I am. Those are my animals and by God I'll have them back.”
O'Brien suddenly swung around with a large butcher’s knife in his hand. He gave a smile and said, “Well, now, me new friend, come for them then. But, you'll lose more than a wee drop of blood.”
“This is plain bullshit,” Sam said, pulled his .44, and fired twice, both slugs catching the Irishman in the middle of his chest. No sooner had O'Brien hit the ground screaming, than the three men were mounted and moving out of Hell Town at a fast walk, heading east.
About a hundred feet from the town, Bill asked, “Do you think those Irishmen will form a posse and come after us?”
Dutch, mad that O'Brien had the balls to try to openly steal their mounts, replied, “Who gives a shit? Look, I ain't worried about what happened back there. From what I saw, I don't expect that will be the only killing tonight. Keep it at a fast walk. We'll cover about five miles and then find a place to spend the night. We've still got some whiskey in our saddlebags, but go easy with it. I don't have any idea where the next town is, so make it last. We'll follow the railroad tracks back to Omaha.”
“How are we going to pull guard with two of us shot? I know I've already come down with a fever.”
“Pull the horses in close, is what we'll do. I expect both of you to come down with a fever hard tonight, but tomorrow we have to ride. In case neither of you know, this is prime Sioux land. Last I heard tell, they don't like this railroad being placed on their lands and they've threatened to kill all white men they find.”
“Boy, ain't that nice to hear on a dark night, ridin' from a killin', shot, in pain, and out in the middle of Sioux country. You're just full of good news, Dutch.”
“I want all of us to hobble our lips, because noise out here travels far and there is no reason to tell every red man within a mile we're here.”
They both heard the loud gulp come from Sam.
Five miles later, or clo se enough, they bedded down in a dry stream bed. The sky was clear and not a cloud out that they could see. A nice full moon was rising and they were beat. Both Sam and Bill split a half a bottle of rye whiskey against the fevers they had. Before long, all were sleeping.
About two hours before dawn, Dutch got up to make water and as he relieved himself, he heard metal striking metal and then a laugh. The laugh was followed by a sharp command in Sioux. Both the laughter and noise stopped. Against the skyline, he could see tw o dozen braves and they were riding west, toward Hell Town.
Please God, don't let Bill or Sam moan, or pass gas right now, or we're all dead men , Dutch thought as he buttoned up his canvas pants and quickly moved to his rifle. Once the Henry was in his hands he felt a little safer, but knew they'd not last long against the warriors. He was the only healthy one of the bunch and he knew one man could only do so much until he was killed.
An hour before daylight, he helped both men into the saddle, one at a time, and tied them to their horses. While both of them were hot, Sam was burning up with fever. From what he remembered from the train ride, they were about five miles or so from a small no name town. He'd been sleepy at the time and didn't pay much attention to the place. Hopefully, it'd have a doctor or at least a general store where he could buy some cheap jugs of trader’s whiskey. Both men needed some rest, whiskey and sleep.
Mounting with the reins of the
other two horses in his hand, he made his way east, staying within sight of the railroad tracks. Both Bill and Sam were moaning now and the whiskey long gone, so they rode along in pain. It was near noon before the town was seen off in the distance.
Smiling, he said, “We're close to town, boys, because I can see it from here.”
“Hurry, Dutch, I . . . I hurt like a sumbitch.” Bill said.
“I need, need a drink fer my pain, too.” Sam said, his words almost unintelligible from pain.
“Hold on boys, we'll be there directly. I'll get three bottles of whiskey and a pint of laudanum to kill your pain.”
“G . . . good.” Bill managed to get out.
Twenty minutes later they rode down the main street of a small town. On the left was a dentist, a bakery, and a restaurant. On the right was a saloon, barber shop, and General store. Dutch moved to the store and dismounted. He ti ed the horses and the entered the store.
When he opened the door and stepped in, a small brass bell announced his entering.
A thin man, with a white shirt and garters on the sleeves looked up from a ledger he was writing in and asked, “What can I get you?”
“I have two men slightly wounded with me, so I want three quarts of good sippin' whiskey, a half pint of laudanum, a gallon of trader’s whiskey, and a pound of chewing tobacco and a pound of smoking.”
“That'll run ya over five dollars, 'cause the whiskey is a dollar fifty a bottle, and the laudanum is over a buck a half-pint. The trader’s whiskey is fifty cents.”
“Gather it up, because the Sioux almost killed the men I'm with.”
“They play rough, them Sioux do, at times.”
“Got a hotel here?”
“No, not enough folks passing this way. We hope to be a real town one day and since we're right on the tracks it might happen.” He wrapped the tobacco up, handed the bottles to Dutch, and placed a gallon clay jug of trader’s whiskey on the coun ter. He then continued, “That'll be five dollars and eighteen cents.”
Dutch paid the man and then said, “Ain't nobody gonna mind if we camp near here for a spell, will they?”