“You think you-” Crack- Jensen's clubbing fist rams deep into his solar plexus, as Jensen lowers him back down to a seat.
The heckler is left gasping, like a toad, as Jensen leaves.
“Side irons can be retrieved on exit.” Says the Captain, as he points to the door.
Jensen nods as he strides in pursuit of the two figures who have just rushed out into the night.
Jensen charges into the storm outside, with little concern as the rain pounds against his duster and pours off the brim of his hat. He pushes past people as he buckles his holsters into place.
Each of his pistols is loaded with five rounds, with one empty chamber for the hammer to rest. Too many young soldiers have experienced a misfire from a clipping of a hammer, or a sudden jerk of movement. Jensen squints as he stares deep into the night, through the rain. He sees two shapes, men departing, with the gait of a frantic nature.
Jensen follows.
Bedford Tannon, maybe slow of wit, but he ain’t stupid. Tyler is gonna want to know about this man who’s come to Keystone and spouting about a hanging. The Colonel Dunston must have reneged on his agreement with the Devons. Bedford though slower in wit than Graden White was older and more experienced. They march through the rain and the mud, away from the marquee. Bedford reaches up to his head and realises he left his hat in the marquee.
“Shit… I forgots me hat.”
“Forget your hat!”
Graden isn’t listening. His panicked words pace quicker than their striding legs.
“Tyler told us his Pa had taken care of bisness. Tha-that Harley would not come to harm, an' wus gonna be free'd. He might be lying to us, Bedford. Or he’s trading us in fur-”
Bedford turns to Graden and slaps him; the rain rushes off his face. They stand to face each other, two beta hounds judging their next move.
"Graden. Tyler ain't into letting his boys down… There's something a foot.” Bedford rests a hand on young Graden’s shoulder. “Now get a grip. We need to find Tyler. I’ll go to his cabin. You’se sees if he’s at the office. Then we’ll meet by the horses.”
Graden nods, it seems like a good plan. They march off in opposite directions.
Stepping from the shadows, large frame just contained in his duster, comes Jensen. He's just missed them. He decides to follow Graden; the shadows engulf him once more.
Graden, in a marching run, bundles past buildings, slipping and sliding in the watery mud, he reaches out for support. He looks up to the mine's central office, a cabin, its windows hold lantern light in their frames. Either Tyler or Mr. Devon are home.
Graden scrambles up the sucking muddy path to the office. His boots to his thighs covered in a glue of soaked dirt. He makes it to the central office's main door; he motions to knock… And stops.
He rehearses what's he's going to say. “Sorry, Mister Devon, sir. Is Tyler, your son, in?”
Graden thinks for a second; maybe he should just drop son? He nods in agreement with himself, after all, he's sure Robert Devon would know he means Tyler Devon.
Graden goes to knock.
By the time he feels Jensen's granite hand scoop him under the chin, and drag him into the dark. It's too late. Graden scrambles, his boot heels kick into the mucus earth, his hands grab Jensen's arm. Graden is dragged unwillingly into the dark, to what feels like a waiting hell.
Graden begins to scream.
“Let me the fuck go! Let me go. I’m friends with Tyl-”
-Jensen twists to the dragging mass of Graden; his arm is already in movement, the twist just gives it power. Jensen's hammer of bone and flesh rains down brutal blows on Graden…
SLAM
CRACK
SMASH
Graden is out cold; his limp body is towed into the waiting night.
Nancy, a slender black girl, is thrown onto a bed. Tyler jumps up on the end of the mattress, showing his off his proud man hood. Nancy chuckles as Tyler swings his hips.
“I’ve got’s one of those Mandingo’s appendages.” He lightly kicks out at Nancy. “Well ain’t it?”
She nods enthusiastically, imitating a slave’s response.
“Yes boss, you’ve got a fine, fine-“
Bang. Bang… The door is rattled on its hinges.
"Pass me my shirt; I don't want to expose my particulars." Nancy throws him the shirt.
Moments after leaving Graden, Bedford is at Tyler’s private quarters, he listens at the door and can hear the horsing around of young people discovering each other. Bedford knew this was serious, so he wrapped the door with gusto. Bedford was breathing hard and decided when he reached eight breaths he'd knock again.
On his sixth breath the door swings open, Tyler is glaring at Bedford.
“What the ‘ell, Bedford. Can’t ya see I’m busy.”
Nancy pipes up “I ain’t doing any favours for your friends Tyler.”
Tyler threatens the back of his hand, and Nancy hushes up.
Bedford is drawn, almost mortified.
“It’s about Winston.”
Tyler brings the door to a near close as he steps out into the rain. He looks at Bedford for him to continue.
"Some salesman has come to the saloon, and he was harping on about a hanging in Dunston, they're gonna hang Harley." Bedford panics. "We gots a bounty on our heads, Tyler."
Tyler snaps Bedford a glance and Bedford nods as if to reassure Tyler that he’s telling the truth. Tyler ruminates all possibilities.
“Na. That can’t be… unless.”
Tyler marches back into his cabin. Bedford stands out in the rain.
“Bedford get rid of her.”
Bedford strides in, drenching the floor and the bedding as he grabs out at Nancy.
She protests
"Hey, can't I stay?" Bedford's wet, clammy hand grabs her ankle; she kicks out. "You're an asshole, Tyler.”
Nancy grabs her stuff and storms out.
Tyler ignores her and stares into a mirror as he’s getting dressed.
“That asshole, Colonel. He’s betrayed us. Betrayed my pa. We made a deal with him, and he’s gun an’ broke it. I know it.” Tyler straps on his pistols.
"What shall we do?" Bedford calms. "They could have a posse after us and Dunston must know where we are at. I told Graden to wait by the horses if he don’t find you. In case we’re needing to get some place.”
Tyler turns to Bedford and gives a gentle, encouraging slaps on Bedford’s face.
“You did good Bedford. Now, round up the others, Morgan, Clyde, an Ben. I'm gonna have a word with Pa, and I'll meet you by the horses. We leave tonight."
Graden's limp body is slung against a mud bank; he starts to emerge into consciousness. Jensen slaps Graden's face.
“Focus, I need ya to focus.”
The rain slams hard into Graden’s face, as his eyes open up to the starless night. The rain bites hard into the mud bank around him. Graden shakes his head, trying to gather his bearings. Another sharp pain rings out across his cheek, the sharp slap of reality brings him back into the now.
Graden motions to stand up, a force shoves him back into the muddy bank. Graden glances around, he's out of Keystone, against the mine itself. He looks for a route of escape. Blocking his escape is that Waylan Daly, who's trying to sell his elixir.
“I know what you did. I just want to know what happened to the boy.”
Graden’s confused. “I don’t know what you want. What boy?”
“The boy you killed in Dunston.”
Graden feels his soul washed through the pit of his stomach into the mud around him. The robbery. Innately Graden knew there would be consequences, ones that you could see rolling over the horizon and others that’ll get you while you’re asleep. Graden had heard about the boy, and tonight, baptized in this unexpected storm and before the cold fury of this man. Graden feels that fate has come knocking.
Tyler had trounced through the mud up to where he knew his father was going to be; the mine's main office. Rob
ert Devon is an engine full of steam. Tyler and his crew had attempted to rob the Dunston's municipal bank, to give money to Robert to pay back his debt to Beau Dunston. When Winston, a known accomplice of Tyler was caught, volleys of accusation were being fired at his son, Tyler. Robert had to ride to Dunston and agree to give the Colonel a greater percentage of the mine, so as bounties and legals were retracted. Just as Devon was clearing a loan from the bank to continue operations until the railroad got here.
Now Tyler has told Robert that Winston is up for a hanging, and there’s a bounty on his son’s head.
The agitation still prickles the air. Tyler, drench and muddied, stands waiting for Robert to bombard him with curses, they don’t come. Robert seems a man at the end of his waned tether. Robert stokes a fire.
“You screwed up Tyler. Dunston is going to gain control of this mine, just as the railroad will make it profitable. I’ve verbally agreed.”
"Pa, we can't let some Yankee Red Skin fucker turn back on the deal." Robert turns to Tyler; he still has some fire left. Tyler nervously spouts "He freely raped natives and … and I hear his forefathers were-”
“-Listen to me. Listen. I made the deal. Me… I will handle the Colonel, and if indeed he has truly to tried a curly on us, I shall deal with it. I'm gon' ride to Dunston with a dozen of our men. Then we'll see what this maelstrom of shit is all about. You, you can just get outta my sight." Devon sits down and exhales his anger. He softens. “Tyler, son. Get away for a week, head up to Johnson City, I’ll take care of it from here.”
"Thanks, Pa."
“And stay outs of trouble, and if trouble comes looking, just keep on moving.”
Tyler leaves.
Robert opens a draw in his desk; he starts to load cartridges into his Smith & Wesson.
“Who did it?” Jensen’s stood bolt upright in the storm, behind him the stretching celestial eternity, cracked by lightning. The very particles themselves in electric excitation. Jensen's not just standing in the storm; he's become part of it.
“Who stampeded the boy?”
Graden is pale, beaten, he feels the bite to his marrow.
“He just ran out in front of us… Jesus lord. We fired warning shots, but he just didn’t budge.”
Jensen plays it out in his head, young William charging out in the street. Graden’s words unwittingly hit home.
“…The fool was trying to stop us. Why? Who would do that?... Why?”
Jensen is twisted inside out, grief and fury, in turn, wash over him. He turns his back to Graden, tilts his open face to the sky, the rain patters across his broad features. The sound of thunder are drums in the distance.
“Why?” Graden whimpers.
Graden, spots Jensen in a trance, he senses an opening, he reaches into his boot and keeps talking.
“I don’t know man; maybe he was trying to be a hero… or he was stupi’ or somethin’.”
Graden stands up a draws out a blade. “Now I’m going.”
Jensen a blanket of numb turns to face him.
Graden becomes the aggressor, wielding the blade, like a dog that's found its fangs.
“Or do I have to cut you?”
Jensen simply stares at Graden.
“You gonna get out my way Ol-man?”
Graden’s sharp blade dances and cuts the air, with the promise to carve flesh. Jensen never looks at the knife; he just stares at Graden. In that moment Jensen seems different, he's either lost apart of himself or mores the horrific point, found a part of himself, buried deep and long ago.
“No.”
Graden sees no fear in Jensen, and like a corned animal, Graden lunges blade thrusting.
Jensen has had fist fights, knife fights, gun fights, he knows what it is to have that animal that resides in each man, the one that turns a man to killing. He knows what it is to have the animal consume the man. Few can experience the animal and man reside side by side with an equal view. Jensen has become that… As Graden's knife rents the air, he lunges the blade to plunge deep into flesh…
Jensen side steps.
Jensen drives his mass behind his hand, as it crashes into Graden’s face.
CRACK…
Teeth splinter, blood spews. Graden falls; dropping the knife.
Jensen yanks Graden up and…
THUMP…
Lands a kidney blow, Graden cuts to limp, groaning.
“I’ll get you money… I’ll turn myself in… What do you want!?”
Jensen is stoney silent, there's nothing to tell Graden, there is no explanation, the animal wants, and the man complies. Jensen yanks Graden's head back and takes the dropped knife and drags it across the exposed throat
SLASH…
Iron, against pallid flesh, gushing crimson. Graden’s eyes are puffed in horror at the searing heat in his neck; he reaches to grab his throat to stem the blood. Jensen quietly, calmly holds Graden's hands back.
As the blood flows the life out of his body, Graden makes breathy, silent screams. His larynx is ripped. Graden’s face and mouth contort. Jensen watches on, emotionless, cold. He holds Graden tight. The struggle abates, life ebbs its last, as the listless shell of a man sags.
Graden’s dead-stare doesn’t change as his face crashes into the mud. His eyes never see Jensen walking off into the night, or the pooling of crimson water around him, the only thing left for his eyes now, is to fade to a bloodless grey.
Jensen has just committed cold murder. Snatched another life from having any possibilities, having any more memories, possibly family from family. He marches though the mud as the rain washes the blood off him. All he can think of is the five others that are in line for some retribution…
…and for anyone else that gets in his way.
27
A CRACK in the black sky is chased moments later by rolling thunder. The rain was in it for the long game; it wasn't going anywhere. Bedford Tannon nervously looks about, as he clasped the reins of six horses. Bedford had a price on him, at least that’s what he’s been lead to believe. Five hundred dollars would turn the head of many an ordinary man and would get bounty hunters circling like carrion. Let alone the criminal element of Keystone mine.
Tyler Devon arrived, with him were: Morgan, nearly thirty, a calculating ex-soldier, Clyde a rough killer in his mid-twenties, with his younger eager brother Ben. Five riders, for the six horses. Tyler takes command.
“Okay boys, it’s gonna be okay.” Tyler snaps a glance “Where the creation is Graden?”
"I said to meet him here," Bedford replies.
The horses feel the agitation and act accordingly.
“Maybe he’s gone already.” Ben chips in.
“But that’s his horse.” Morgan’s insistent. “He’s a rustler ain’t he?... He probably nabbed ‘imself a horse.”
“That dumbass.” Tyler surmises. “Hell, Morgan’s right, let’s get gone.”
They all mount, with a horse left to spare they ride off. Morgan being the ex-soldier always checks his tail as he rides off. It could be a trick of the flashing lightning or a dance of shadows, but he thinks he sees a figure dash out from behind the marquee.
Morgan crouches over his saddle and rides hard into the driving rain.
Jensen sees the five riders tearing into the night, as if in pursuit or being chased. He knew these were his men… And they're getting away… Jensen runs forward drawing his pistol.
He stops and aims, his bead dances over the ever shrinking targets, the rain, and the wind kick up in protest.
That’s a shot he can’t make, at least not these days.
Tyler and his riders passage with purpose from Keystone, desperate to put distance between them and the town. The horses snort steam and pummel the turf.
As the town becomes globes of light in the dark distance, Tyler begins to slow. He slows to a stop, the rain eases up, and the thunder is ushered to silence, till next time. Tyler's posse pulls up by him. Morgan asks.
“What did your Pa say?”
> Tyler’s volcanic. “This ain’t nothin’ to do with Pa. I’m in charge… we clear?”
The posse in silent accord nod in agreement, though they know Devon senior is the real boss.
“I told Pa, to go to Dunston and talk with that Colonel. Sort out this mess, or we will raise hell.” He hits a note of bravado. “We’re heading to Johnson City. I know a few willing girls up there, cheap an such.”
Clyde asks an intrusive question.
“What about the Colonel? They say he’s trying to take Keystone.”
“So that’s why we hit the bank.” It dawns on Morgan.
Tyler is angry; suddenly everybody knows the Devon's business.
“My Pa owns the Colonel. Got it. He'll save Winston."
Each man digests and accepts the lie.
Each man looks across to the other, gazes smacking of distrust.
"Hey, guys… Graden’s coming." Ben Jameson was the youngest of the lot; he didn’t quite know what was happening, so staring off into the black he notices a rider approach. All their eyes turn to the distance.
Against the backdrop of Keystone’s winking lights, is a mounted silhouette. It rumbles towards them, a long coat flurries like wings in submission to the pace. It’s as though a nightmare was riding out of their dreams.
“…That, ain’ Graden.” Morgan states. “I rode with him for near four years, and that ain’t ‘im.”
The air crackles with nerves, pistols, and rifles slide out their leather holsters.
Bloodshed is moments away; it can be tasted.
Tyler remembers his father’s words.
“Look, if Pa’s gonna salvage something from this hog's breakfast, then we won't be needing any needless killings." The posse looks to him. Tyler clarifies "If that's a Marshal, no amount of bribin’ will get those nooses from off our necks.”
Redemption's Blood Page 10