The Legend of Shamus McGinty's Gold

by I. J. Parnham

  “That’s easy,” Quinn said. “We agreed on a three-way split: a third for my men, a third for Morgan and a third for your people.”

  “What about me?” Wiley whined.

  “You’re a part of Fergal’s people,” Quinn said.

  “If you say so, but I’m more interested in dollars. I don’t want gold.”

  “That’s fine by me. There’ll be more for those who do.”

  “Stop bickering,” Morgan shouted, his strong voice showing no sign of the illness that had plagued him. “There’s more gold than anyone could ever want.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” Fergal said. “Seeing as how our storekeeper friend doesn’t want to involve himself with the gold, perhaps I should pay him and he can return to his store. I’m sure he’s got lots of bags of beans that need looking after and he has a special bag to get ready for my return.”

  “Again, fine by me,” Quinn said.

  Fergal turned to Wiley. “So, how much did we agree that I’d pay you for your beans?”

  “One thousand dollars,” Wiley said.

  Quinn snorted. “One thousand dollars for a bag of beans. I hate this storekeeper.”

  “It doesn’t matter none,” Morgan said. “If he charged ten thousand dollars, we won’t care when we have the gold.”

  Fergal set his hands on his hips. “The problem is I haven’t got one thousand dollars. If I were to sell everything I own, I’d raise five hundred dollars though. Would you settle for that?”

  Wiley shook his head. “I’d prefer one thousand dollars, as we agreed.”

  Fergal rubbed his hands and turned to Quinn. “To buy the beans, I need to raise another five hundred dollars.”

  With his teeth gritted Quinn shook his head. “Don’t look at me. I don’t care if I am about to become the richest man that ever lived. I’m not paying five hundred dollars for a bag of beans.”

  “What about paying five hundred dollars for some bottles of the universal remedy. It’s done Morgan a lot of good and we don’t want him to have a sudden relapse as he’s about to show us where the gold is.”

  Morgan coughed. “Fergal has a point. That universal remedy sure livens you up.”

  “That might be possible,” Quinn said.

  “You only produced twenty-one bottles,” Wiley said. “At the ten dollars each you were charging yesterday, you won’t raise five hundred dollars.”

  “What?” Quinn shouted, pacing toward Fergal. “Two days ago, you charged me one hundred dollars for each bottle.”

  Morgan strode between the three of them with his wiry arms raised.

  “Gentlemen, would you please stop arguing.” Morgan waited until Quinn and Fergal turned away from each other. “I want more bottles of the universal remedy and I’m happy to pay five hundred dollars. So, Quinn, pay the man.”

  Quinn ground his teeth and then snapped his fingers.

  “Vance, pay the man.”

  Vance reached into his pocket and slammed a wad of bills into Fergal’s hand. While smiling, Fergal backed away a few paces and handed the bills to Randolph, who strode to the wagon and collected a saddlebag containing the universal remedy bottles. As he laid it on the ground, Fergal flexed his back, ensuring he had a comfortable stance.

  “With that transaction complete, I’ll bid you all farewell,” Fergal said. “Perhaps we’ll meet again, but I doubt it. After seeing Redemption City one last time, I doubt I’ll return to Kansas.”

  “You’re not staying to get your share of the gold?” Quinn asked.

  Fergal shook his head. “Nope. I’ve had more than enough of everyone’s company. No offense meant.”

  “No offense taken. The feeling is mutual.”

  “What about my beans?” Wiley said. “When are you buying them?”

  Fergal laughed. “One thousand dollars for a bag of magic beans? You’ve got to be joking.”

  Fergal snapped his fingers, and Randolph drew his Colt Peacemaker, training the gun on Wiley.

  “Like my boss says, you’ve got to be joking,” Randolph said.

  Randolph, Fergal and Jed backed away to the wagon in a line while the others stood in their semicircle.

  “You can’t go without buying my beans,” Wiley said. “Think of the money you can make from them.”

  “Your offer is an opportunity that’s too good to miss,” Fergal said. “The problem is that it is too good. So if I want to miss it, that’s my choice and I’ll settle for earning these five hundred dollars.”

  Wiley frowned. “You are going, aren’t you? What game are you all playing?”

  Fergal halted his backward walk and shrugged. “We’re not playing a game.”

  With a whirl of his arm, Quinn drew his gun, aiming it at Randolph. Reacting instantly, Wiley drew his gun, too, but aimed it at Fergal.

  “This is a game, isn’t it?” Quinn said. “Everybody is playing tricks on me.”

  Fergal sneered. “The only people playing games are you and this storekeeper, but unfortunately, you faced someone more skilled in your game than you are.”

  “What do you mean?” Quinn said.

  “You didn’t think I was naïve enough to believe your magic beans story, did you? You played a good part, but anyone could see through that.” Fergal laughed when Randolph coughed. “I’ll admit you fooled me for a while, but I’ve been playing that kind of game for years, and you lost. You wanted to cheat me out of five hundred dollars, but I’m the one who’ll walk away with your five hundred dollars.”

  “Stop play-acting!” Wiley shouted. “You aren’t fooling me. You’ve only transferred money between yourselves. Whatever this gold trick is won’t fool me.”

  Randolph winced and, taking a guess at what was happening here, he gestured with his Colt at Wiley.

  “You, storekeeper, who are you working with?” he said.

  Wiley shrugged. “Seeing as how this isn’t going to work now, there’s no use pretending anymore. I’m working with Jim, the Lazy Dog Saloon owner. Fergal sold his brother some garbage in Redemption City and the foul brew knotted up his guts something rotten, so we decided to make Fergal pay.”

  “So you hired some townsfolk to pretend to get better after drinking the universal remedy?”

  Wiley nodded. “Yeah, we did, although none of them drank it. We told them to use the universal remedy to clean pots instead. In your defense, it worked well. Speaking as a trader, you’re selling it to the wrong market.”

  Randolph considered this answer, judging it honest. Years of working with Fergal had given him an instinct for duplicity.

  “Where does Morgan fit into this?”

  “You tell me,” Wiley said, shrugging. “Morgan is working with you to trick me with this gold story.”

  Randolph shook his head. “No, he isn’t. Morgan is with you in this beans setup.”

  Wiley shook his head and everyone turned to Morgan.

  “Who are you working with, Morgan?” Wiley asked.

  “I’m with no one,” Morgan said, planting his hands on his hips. “I’m my own man.”

  “This is too much!” Quinn snapped. “I’m going to start counting and unless someone tells me what’s going on here before I reach five, I’m handing out some death.”

  “I don’t believe you’re on your own, Morgan,” Wiley said, scratching his head.

  “One,” Quinn said.

  Randolph shrugged. “Explain yourself, Morgan.”

  “Two.”

  “I was ill. Now I’m better, thanks to your latest batch of miracle bean juice. I’m grateful, whatever happens next, but if it’s the same to everyone here, I’ll show anyone who is interested a lot of gold.”

  “Three.”

  “Stop counting,” Fergal shouted, waving his hands over his head. “Let’s see this gold.”

  “Four.”

  Wiley blew out his cheeks. “Do you mean we’re all working on our own?”

  Quinn grinned. “Yeah, you’re right. All four groups are working on their own, and I m
ake that five.”

  Quinn hunched forward, so Randolph leaped to his side, knocking Fergal to the ground. As he fell, a bullet whistled by his head and then gunfire ricocheted around him. Wiley fell to his knees, a spreading red bloom on his dirty apron.

  A waft of smoke drifted between Wiley and Quinn, as Wiley collapsed to his side and rolled on to his back, his chest no longer rising and falling. With his Colt drawn, Randolph faced Quinn, but Quinn smirked at Wiley’s dead body.

  “Demanding one thousand dollars for a bag of beans, and rotten beans at that,” Quinn said. “I really hated that storekeeper.”

  “You didn’t need to kill him,” Randolph said.

  “You’re right. I should have let him kill Fergal and then killed him. That means I saved Fergal’s life. Who’d have thought it?”

  Randolph nodded. “So, you weren’t working with Wiley to trick us?”

  “I wasn’t. Why did you think so?”

  “Because his scheme to charge us one thousand dollars for a bag of magic beans needed accomplices, and you seemed plausible enough to be part of the scheme.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. Nobody’s called me plausible before. They tend to use much worse language.” Quinn turned to Morgan, and with his arm extended, aimed his gun at him. “I’m not anyone’s accomplice, but I haven’t proved whether you’re someone’s accomplice. So, it was always going to come to this, old-timer. Show me the gold, or your last day of existence will be a painful one.”

  Morgan rubbed his hands. “If you gentlemen have finished your discussion, I want to take the opportunity to say that Mr. O’Brien’s universal remedy is an excellent brew. More importantly, our recently departed storekeeper’s beans were probably worth one thousand dollars, even if they were rotten, or perhaps they were worth it, because they were rotten.”

  “Less talk, more gold.”

  “I was coming to the gold, if you’d allow me to finish, but first, I’d like to relate some details to you.”

  Quinn’s fingers whitened, his gaunt cheeks bulging as he gritted his teeth.

  “Less details, more gold.”

  Morgan shook his head. “Please listen to me. You can indulge your desire for violence later. For now, we have a job to do.”

  Quinn threw his head back and roared to the sky, his voice echoing in the distant hills.

  “If you don’t show me Shamus McGinty’s gold right now, they’ll hear your cries for help in Redemption City.”

  Fergal gulped and got to his feet. “What did you just say?”

  Quinn’s prominent neck muscles tightened as he snapped his head around to face Fergal.

  “You heard and that threat goes for you, too, if you don’t keep quiet.”

  “No, I meant about Shamus McGinty’s gold. Is that what we’ve come here to find?”

  “You’re a smart man,” Quinn said. “I thought you’d have picked that up before.”

  A smile spread across Morgan’s face as Fergal backed away.

  “Yeah, Fergal O’Brien, that’s what we’re here to find,” Morgan said, folding his arms. “Or should I call you Fergal McGinty?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  WITH COORDINATED LIGHTNING speed, all four of Quinn’s men drew their guns. In a desperate lunge, Randolph pushed Fergal behind him. As Quinn stood the nearest to Randolph, he faced him.

  “Don’t believe him, Quinn,” he said.

  “I don’t believe anyone anymore,” Quinn said. “What do you mean, old-timer?”

  “So you want to hear the details now, do you?” Morgan said.

  “Don’t push me. Tell me what you know.”

  “Forty years ago, Shamus McGinty and me were partners, except Shamus got lost around here,” Morgan said. “He went into the hills and nobody saw him for weeks. I searched for him and eventually, I found him. When I brought him back, he told everyone he’d found gold, but he wouldn’t share it with me, although I’d saved his life. Then he disappeared again. I spent years tracking him, learning a little here and a little there—”

  Quinn spat on the ground. “Tell me the short version.”

  Morgan sighed. “I learned that Shamus McGinty had a son who he called Fergal. His son works as a tonic seller and that’d be this man, unless anyone knows any other tonic sellers called Fergal.”

  Quinn turned back to Fergal. “It sounds like you have some explaining to do, Fergal McGinty.”

  Randolph held his hands wide apart. “Fergal hasn’t got to explain himself to anyone. I’ve worked for him for years. He sells undrinkable bean juice to gullible passersby to scrape a living.”

  “Randolph, the universal remedy is a genuine product,” Fergal said.

  “Either way, Fergal hasn’t got enough money to feed himself sometimes. If he had more gold than any man has ever seen, I doubt he’d be spending every evening cooking beans.” Randolph rubbed his chin. “Or to be precise, telling me to boil beans into oblivion.”

  “You’ve made a good point,” Quinn said, and aimed his gun at Morgan. “The answer to that response would be?”

  “You should ask Fergal McGinty that question. You see, I remember Shamus, and he had an odd view on life. He turned his back on the gold, seeming to think that there’s more to life. Strangely, he believed travel, meeting new people and conversation were more important. Fergal has those interests, too. Perhaps Shamus taught Fergal everything he knew.”

  Quinn faced Randolph. “Step aside, Randolph. I have questions to ask Fergal.”

  “You can ask, but I’m not stepping aside.”

  “All right, tonic seller, where in these hills is the gold your pa found?”

  Fergal laughed. “You’ve been fooled by a trick I would have been embarrassed to try. There’s no such thing as Shamus McGinty’s gold. Morgan has taken you for a fool. He’s sold you an old legend in return for your help.”

  “Perhaps he has, but as soon as I’ve killed Randolph, I’ll find that out for myself. It might take time, but you’ll tell me.”

  Quinn’s arm twitched, so Randolph leaped to his right, aiming and firing in an instant. He sprayed an arc of bullets across Quinn’s men. As a returning series of gunshots blasted around Randolph, he hit the ground with his shoulder, but carried the fall onward, turning it into a roll.

  Once on his feet, he dashed away from Quinn. To his side, Fergal and Jed also ran. Randolph checked behind him and his arc of gunfire had brought down only one man and the other four were chasing after them.

  Morgan shuffled along five yards back. A gunshot rang out. Jed stumbled to his knees and then fell on to his chest. Randolph skidded to a halt and then hurried to his side, but a huge swathe of spreading blood coated Jed’s back.

  Randolph had seen fatal wounds before. With his teeth gritted, he turned away, but in the few seconds he’d been at Jed’s side, Quinn’s men had spread out and surrounded him. Randolph held his chin high and rested a hand on Jed’s now-still body. A few yards away, Fergal slid to a stop, and then turned and raised his arms.

  “There’s no need to kill any more of my men,” he said. “They know nothing about who I am.”

  Quinn walked forward to stand before Fergal. “So for the record who are you, then?”

  “My name is Fergal O’Brien. I’m also Shamus McGinty’s son.”

  Quinn licked his lips. “That’s more like it. Give me the rest of what I want to hear.”

  With a shrug Fergal nodded over Quinn’s shoulder.

  “What you want is that-a-way.”

  “Take me to the exact place, or suffer.”

  Fergal sighed. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”

  THE WAGON TRUNDLED northward. Randolph took the reins, while Fergal sat quietly to his right and Vance sat sullenly to his left. Around them, Quinn’s men rode, minus one man, although with Jed lying dead in the back of the wagon, this didn’t give them an advantage. With the recent revelations killing any conversation that Randolph thought of making with his boss, he just hunched forward.


  “Go that way,” Fergal said, pointing to a small slope to their left and away from the river that they tracked.

  “How much farther is it?” Vance asked when Randolph nodded.

  “As far as your future life and as near as the death that won’t come once you’ve stopped searching.”

  “That’s not more of Shamus McGinty’s legend is it? I’ve had more than enough of that kind of meaningless talk from Morgan over the last few months.”

  Fergal turned to Vance, his face set grim. “You’re talking about my pa and he’s no legend. I’m only telling you truths that you’ll never understand.”

  “I understand gold. I don’t understand the legend.”

  When the wagon reached the crest of the hill, Fergal laid a hand on the reins.

  “Now would be the right time for me to take the reins, Randolph.”

  Randolph slackened his hands. As he handed over the reins, Fergal gripped Randolph’s right hand, making Randolph smile and flex his back, sighing loudly.

  “Does this mean we’re close to the gold?” Vance asked.

  “It’s closer than you think,” Fergal said.

  Vance leaned toward Fergal and scowled. “I’ve had enough of such answers.”

  “That’s a pity. Now.”

  “Now?”

  “Yeah, now.”

  They rode in silence down the hill.

  “Oh, now,” Randolph said.

  Fergal grinned and with a sharp snap of his hand, he cracked the reins. With a lurch, the horses burst to a gallop. Unprepared, Vance fell back and banged his head against the wagon.

  As he rolled forward, his face slammed into Randolph’s fist. Wasting no more time, Randolph grabbed Vance’s arm and tumbled him from the side of the wagon for him to disappear from sight. Randolph turned to the front where the horses galloped down the slope toward the open hills beyond.

  “Fergal McGinty, what’s the plan?” he said.

  Fergal laughed. “I have no idea. I only planned the last bit. It’s your turn to produce the good ideas.”

  “I note you didn’t mind me calling you Fergal McGinty,” Randolph said while smiling.

  “It doesn’t matter what you call me. Plenty of people have called me worse things than the son of a legend, but my name is still Fergal O’Brien.”