The Gospel According to Colt

by W. R. Benton

  “Howdy, folks. Is there something I can do for ya?” the big man asked.

  “Do you have rooms to let?” Susan instantly asked.

  “Well, yes I do, but they're hardly fit for a woman of refinement, ma'am.”

  “One room will do nicely tonight and I want a bath, too.”

  “I need ya or yer husband to sign my ledger book please.”

  She moved to the counter and then asked, “How much per night?”

  “Four bits ma'am, half a dollar.”

  She signed the ledger and then asked, “And, how much is a bottle of good Kentucky bourbon?”

  “A dollar and a half, uh, Mrs. Stoner.” He quickly read the name from the ledger.

  Lew chuckled as he looked the big knives over in a glass display case.

  “We'll spend the night here and have the bottle brought to our room immediately. Do you serve hot food here too?” she asked.

  “Yes-um, but it's, uh, usually stew, beans and bacon, or other simple foods.”

  “And where is your dining room?”

  “I ain't got one, but in your case I can bring the food to your room.”

  Lew neared and said, “Give us a pound of that rock candy behind ya and a pound of chewing tobacco. Oh, and I need to remind you, we're both light sleepers.”

  “And, what does that mean to me?” the big man said as he pulled the candy to weigh.

  “That means if someone, anyone , enters our room tonight, they'll be packed out come mornin'. We've already had to fight with one man who owned a trading post.”

  “Well, I run a respectable business here, and I'm as honest as the day is long.”

  “Some days seem shorter than others, don't they? Just remember my words. Now, after the whiskey's brought to our room, bring us supper. We're both tougher than we look, so we'll eat just about anything, if the price is low enough.”

  “Dime a plate, but I'm not sure what White Swan has cooked up fer supper.”

  “Just bring it and we'll get along fine.”

  “I'll do that. My son, Frank, will bring your whiskey shortly, and the tub. I should have your supper to you in about an hour.”

  “One last thing. Did you have a man come in here alone today at any point? He was riding a big bay.”

  “Yep, I did, but it was early this mornin', right after daylight. I thought it strange, him bein' alone, because most people travel with at least one other person. The damned Injun scare is enough to keep most folks travelin' in groups or at least as a couple.”

  “Did you notice anything unusual about the man?”

  “Are you the law or somethin'? I didn't do nothin' but sell some small things to him.”

  “No, he's my brother and I'm trying to catch up with him.” Lew lied and then gave a dry chuckle.

  “I noticed some blood on 'em, mostly on his hands and under his nails. When I asked him about it, he said he'd fought with some Sioux out on the plains, and I knew that could easily be true. Hell, the red men get pissed and start killin' white folk, then the army comes out, chases them for a month or so and things quiet back down for a little while. Then a couple of months later, it starts all over again. It's a big circle, don't ya see?”

  “Where is this room we have?” Susan asked, not wanting to stand there and make small talk, because she was too tired.

  “Outside and the first door on the right. Now it's not much for —”

  “I know, a refined woman like me. It'll be fine.” They both turned and walked from the trading post. Lew stopped at the horses and pulled his guns. Then they continued to the room. He'd unload the horses later.

  Opening the door to the shoddy, Susan was actually surprised with the room. While the furniture was old, it was in good repair, and the bed had fresh linens. The water in the pitcher was clear and clean, and the small heating stove in the corner had enough wood stacked for the night.

  “It's better than I thought it'd be.” she said with a smile, and let Billy down to the floor.

  Lew chuckled and then said, “It's about as good as a room gets out west, except few have dirt floors like this one.”

  “This will be just fine.”

  It was then there came a loud knock on the door.

  Chapter 17

  IT'D been four hours since he'd spotted the lone rider behind him and he knew he was still being followed. It was a feeling, and his feelings were never wrong. The man has to be an Injun, because no white man could keep following me with just one horse , Dutch thought.

  At dusk, he pulled off the trail and followed a dry stream bed for about a half a mile before he made a cold camp. He hobbled both horses, worked on a long strip of dried beef, and washed it down with whiskey he'd stolen from the drummer on the stagecoach. He would stop for a few hours and then continue moving, but at some point, he had to clear the red man off his ass. Dutch hated being crowded or followed and at some point tomorrow he'd dry gulch the man behind him.

  He rolled up in his blanket and was asleep within seconds, his body worn out from all the riding he'd done since they'd broken out of prison.

  Hours later, he heard his horse give a low whinny and then by moonlight saw the animal looking toward the main trail.

  Someone's looking for a fire or trace of me, but they'll find nothing , he thought as he moved to his horses. He whispered to them a few minutes, checked the stars and realized it was almost time for him to leave.

  He saddled both animals, pulled out another slab of dried beef jerky and mounted. He'd ride away from the trail today, but keep it in sight, and once light, he'd find a spot to ambush his follower. If nothing else the man on his ass would use up valuable time just looking for him or trying to find his tracks.

  The morning dawned chilly, but not really cold, with a clear sky. From horizon to horizon, it was all blue skies and as far as Dutch was concerned, it was a great day to be alive and rich. He'd moved into some rolling rock infested hills shortly after first light. He was now behind a huge boulder, Sharps rifle in hand, with a Henry repeater leaning against the cold stone. All he had to do now was wait for the man following him to get close enough and then blow him off his mount. He'd already checked his Colt pistols and had the leather thongs off both.

  He pulled a small soft cloth bag from his left shirt pocket and pulled a pack of cigarette papers from the same pocket. Using the first three digits of his left hand, he held the paper curled, like a 'U' and filled it with tobacco. He then licked the paper on one side and then rolled it onto the other side. Striking a Lucifer with his thumb, he lifted the match to his smoke, inhaled deeply, and then watched the tobacco catch fire. He wasn't much of a smoker, but waiting like this had him craving a smoke. He knew that in a few minutes he'd be done and then have to chew if he wanted tobacco, because the smell of smoke carries far in the wind and the glowing end makes a good target in dark or dim light.

  This is about the only time Sam was worth a shit, during an ambush. He was deadly and I don't think there was a better back shooter ever born. He was, in many ways, more animal than human and was holy hell on a woman. I wish now I'd not killed him, but at least I ended up with all the money, except for some loose pocket change. It's strange he'd enter my thoughts now and not right after I killed his worthless ass , Dutch thought as he took deep drags from his smoke. Seeing it was down to a butt, he dropped it, rubbed it into the soil with his right boot, and then pulled out a bottle of whiskey. Just one drink , he thought. He took a long pull and placed it beside his boulder.

  Four hours later, he spotted movement approaching and he raised the Sharps, knowing if the big bullet hit an arm or leg, it'd take it off. The standard Sharps bullet was close to 0.500 inches in diameter, perhaps a hair larger, and weighed from 335 to 700 grains. Since he was using black powder, his rifle would have the muzzle energy of between 1,630 to 1,985 foot-pounds. The big .50-90 hand loaded cartridges delivered a lot of energy. Now used by buffalo hunters because of the powerful cartridge and its stopping power, he knew it'd work fine on
a human. The only drawback he knew of with the big rifle was it was single shot, breech loaded. I hit him with this and he'll go down and that's for damned sure , he thought.

  He'd kept his eyes on the position of the sun during the wait, so when he raised the rifle there would be no flash. He wanted to know the sun's position at all times. He didn't want his target to have any warning, so he'd be riding one minute and in hell the next. The Sharps was just the rifle to do the job, too. It was deadly in the hands of an expert marksman and while not much of a man, Dutch was one hell of a fine shot.

  I'll be damned, it's an Omaha. Only, why just one? I ain't never just ran into one Injun out here or any other place that I can think of, no matter the tribe. Well, I don't see anyone else with him, so he must be it , he thought, as he raised the sights and adjusted them.

  He took a deep breath and held it as he centered his shot on the Indian's chest. As he slowly released the air from his lungs, he gently squeezed the trigger, and was rewarded with a hard kick from the rifle and a loud scream from the brave.

  The Indian fell to the ground and began to jerk and twitch. The pony, which must have been trained by the rider, stopped less than fifty feet from the downed man and waited patiently. Leaning the Sharps against the boulder, he picked up the Henry rifle and moved toward the man.

  For long distance work he loved the Sharps, but when in a tight spot, it was hard to beat a Henry rifle. The rifle was a sixteen shot, .44 caliber rim-fire, lever-action, weapon and hard to beat in a nasty toe to toe gunfight. Just one Henry rifle in the hands of a good shot was equal to a dozen normal shooters using single shot rifles.

  When he neared the warrior was singing, which Dutch knew was his death song, and he waited as he watched the man carefully. He was tempted to just shoot him in the head, but wondered why the man was riding his ass. If I can get some laudanum down him, I might be able to learn some things , he thought as he pulled a small bottle of the powerful drug from his right shirt pocket.

  When the man stopped singing, he approached him cautiously and found him almost unconscious. The big bullet from the Sharps had taken him higher than he'd been aiming but it was likely because of the movement of the pony. Dutch raised the man's head and poured a little of the drug into his mouth. He then searched the man for weapons. He found a scalping knife, hunting knife, an old single shot muzzle loading pistol, and a tomahawk. He tossed all to the side, except for the tomahawk and kept it, thinking it'd look good on his wall once he bought a home in New Orleans.

  “What's your name, Injun? You speak English?” Dutch asked after a minute or two, knowing the man was feeling little or no pain.

  “I . . . called . . . Strong . . . Bow. I . . . am Omaha.” the warrior replied in thickly accented English.

  “Why were you following me?”

  Giving weak grin, he said, “Why . . . not? You are . . . white eye.”

  “Who sent you to trail me?”

  “The . . . Great . . . Creator. We . . . are . . . enemies.”

  Realizing he'd get no information from the man and it was likely he just wanted Dutch's scalp, he suddenly raised the tomahawk and then brought it down hard, striking the warrior almost between his eyes. There was no time for a scream or hardly for a blink before he was struck. Then Strong Bow's body began to quiver and jerk violently. Dutch pulled the tomahawk from his victim's face and didn't notice the grinding noise it made as he jerked it from the bone of the dead man's skull. He saw the Sharps round was fatal too; that was clear when he rolled the dead man over and saw a chunk of bone and flesh the size of his fist missing. Damn, that Sharps hits hard , he thought as he stood and made his way to the Injun pony.

  Three days later, just after dawn, he rode into Kansas City. The first thing I need to do is get a hotel room, bath, bottle, new clothes and maybe a woman. I need me some duds that make me look rich, so the coppers will leave me alone, he thought as he rode down the middle of Main Street. Seeing a young boy of about fifteen, Dutch called out, “Young man, where is the closest good hotel?”

  “The Golden Horseshoe is good, but it'll cost you, mister.” The boy was selling newspapers.

  “How much are your papers, and where it this Horseshoe place?” Dutch leaned from his saddle.

  “Papers are two cents and the Horseshoe is down the street a block, then on the right. Ya can't miss it, it's got a really big sign with a gold horseshoe on the thing.”

  Handing the boy a half dime, he said, “Keep the change and thanks, son.”

  “Wow, thanks, mister!”

  The kid was right. The sign for the hotel was huge and sure enough, the big golden horseshoe was clearly seen. Dutch tied his horses to the hitching post, removed the saddlebags from both horses, and grinned at the curious looks the Omaha horse was getting. The pony still had its tail tied up, red hand prints and lightning bolts crudely drawn on the animal by Strong Bow. All had something to do with the religion of the Omaha, but Dutch hadn't figured it all out and really didn't care.

  He entered the hotel holding two rifles, his saddlebags, bedroll, and a burlap bag containing four bottles of whiskey taken from the drummer on the stage. When he neared the front desk, he saw a rail thin white man looking down his long nose at him. Tired, hungry and not in the best of moods, Dutch asked, “How much a night?”

  “Sir, we provide the best quality for your money spent, deliver outstanding service, and you'll be treated like a King here, if you can afford our usual fee of two dollars a night.” Thin man then smiled, as if he suspected Dutch didn't have a dime.

  “Son, I have enough money to buy this place. Now, I want a room for a week, a tub brought to my room, and a barber sent up. After the barber leaves, I want a tailor to come and measure me for some new clothes. Do you think you're smart enough to remember all of that, or do I need to repeat it, so you can write it down? You can write, I assume, since you work here.”

  The clerk was pissed, but knowing Dutch had money, he replied, “Oh, yes sir, I write very well and will see your desires happen. I'll have the tub and barber at your room within twenty minutes and what they charge is between you and them. We have a free bathhouse out back, so the tub in the room will cost you an extra two bits.”

  Laying a new double eagle on the counter, Dutch said, “Send me up a thick steak, burnt on the outside and raw in the middle, fried taters, and some beans. You do all of this and the money left over is yours.”

  The clerk quickly figured he'd make close to a five dollar tip, not to mention his share from the barber and tailor, so he said, “I'll have the meal brought up directly. Do you need some whiskey, sir? If you'll sign the ledger, I'll fetch you a key.”

  “Whiskey I have.” Dutch replied, and signed in the ledger as Jasper Brooks out of New York City.

  Handing him a key and looking the ledger over, the clerk said, “Well, you most certainly do not have an east coast accent.”

  “I wasn't born or raised there. I moved to the city after I hit the mother-lode looking for gold up in Montana. A man needs a big city to call home, so he can get what he needs and wants. Do y'all have a saloon in the hotel?”

  “Yes, sir, and a casino of sorts, with all kinds of ways to win money.”

  “Or lose it too, right? I've not heard the word casino, so what does it mean?”

  “Gambling house or something like that. You can find all kinds of entertainment in the casino.”

  “I play a little five card stud at times, but only with friends. I'm not much of a serious gambler. I like to keep my money and gambling for most folks is a sure-fire way to lose it. I'd like to stand here and chew the fat with you, but my ass is tired. I had Injuns riding my tail all the way to K. C. and I need some rest.”

  “You're in suite 101, sir, on the ground floor, first room on the left.”

  Dutch moved to the room, placed the whiskey and bedroll on the floor of the hallway, and unlocked the door. When he entered he was surprised at how nice it looked. The furniture looked freshly polished and in exc
ellent condition, the bed looked new, and there was a scent in the room that reminded him of women. Not any particular woman, just women in general. I think my momma called this smell lilac , he thought.

  In just a few minutes, he had all the horses unloaded, and his supplies and gear packed up against the far wall. He'd just poured three fingers of whiskey when the food arrived, followed by the barber and then the tub. Dutch was usually clean shaven, but he had the barber leave his mustache and long sideburns, which he thought greatly changed his appearance.

  When the tailor arrived, he ordered three suits, two frock coats, two dusters, and some canvas trousers as well. The man left Dutch smiling, and with dollar signs in his eyes.

  I need to put some of this money into different banks. I can't keep carrying it around or I'll end up getting my ass robbed at some point , he thought as he picked up both saddlebags and moved for the closest bank.

  When he walked outside in his clean canvas trousers, blue work shirt, and gray Stetson on his head, the young paperboy almost didn't recognize him. The hat was badly soiled, but he'd get a new one before he returned to his room.

  “Hey, mister, you clean up pretty good.”

  “Thank you, son. Are you always here, on this street I mean?”

  “Each of us boys have a street to work and this one is mine. I live alone, since both my ma and pa are dead, but I make fair money on this corner.”

  “How'd you like to earn some easy money?”

  “I've had men ask that question before and the answer is no. I'm not into other men, if you know what I mean.”

  Dutch laughed and once sober, he said, “No, son, you misunderstand me. I need to find three banks, a general store, gun shop and a good saloon. I could drink in the hotel, but they charge double for everything.”

  “I see, but what do you want from me?”

  “I'll pay ya a dollar to guide me to the banks, store and saloon. Kansas City is huge and I'm afraid I don't know my way around yet. I'll pay you before I go into the saloon. Deal?”