The dealer spun from the jolt of the bullet slamming into his chest and fell away from the table. His teeth were first to meet the floor.
Birthmark took the dealer’s bullet through his neck. It entered beneath his adam’s apple and blew threw his trachea. It decimated the meeting of vertebrae at the cervical and thoracic spine on its way out.
Birthmark collapsed back into his chair. His rear slumped into the seat and his torso fell forward. His forehead crunched into the edge of the table, and with the vertebrae missing in the back of his neck, his head arched into a hyperextended position, and came to a stop lodged against the edge of the table.
Balum and Randolph sat across from one another. They looked at the two dead men beside them and back to each other. On the table sat the two men’s piles of cash.
They sat in silence for a moment, each looking the other in the eye. Slowly they each rose. They stood across from each other, the dealer face down on his cracked and broken teeth, and Birthmark seated with his forehead pinned against the card table.
And then they moved quickly. They scooped the coins and bills across the tabletop and into their pockets until the table contained nothing but drinking glasses, cards, and the splatter of blood.
They walked to the curtain and stepped through. On the other side they did not pause one step, but each walked past the bar, through the saloon doors, and onto the boardwalk outside.
They turned briefly to look at one another. Randolph gave a slight nod of his head and tipped his hat. Balum returned the gesture and the two turned and walked away from each other in opposite directions.
20
He didn’t know how much money rested in his pockets but he could feel the weight of the coins and when he shoved his hands into his trousers his fingers clutched that unique feel of legal tender. He walked along the streets, past hanging lanterns and under the light of the moon. His feet took him toward the sounds of people, the sounds of shouts and laughter from the bars and saloons. The liveliest were those that were the least respectable. Some were saloons filled with whores, others were whorehouses serving drink.
Women called to him from the brothel doorways. They stepped out to greet him as he passed. They would pull at his sleeve and whisper in his ear the pleasures they could extend to him.
He was not built to resist these temptations. At one of the doorways sat a pretty young girl on a stool. She wore a low-cut dress pulled tight across her chest. She smiled at Balum and held out her arm. He took her hand and she rose from the stool and kissed him on the neck and led him inside.
He entered a softly lit lounge ringed with well-cushioned sofas. On one side stretched a bar lined with mirrors and bottles of liquor. The girls were plentiful. They sat on the furniture in erotic positions and laughed with each other in small groups. Some of them sat next to or on the laps of men. The whores plied them with alcohol and let the men run their hands over their bodies until they were left unable to resist the girl’s suggestions to take them to private rooms.
Balum stumbled a bit as he walked. He felt he could stay in that room forever, if his pockets would only remain filled with cash. A drink was placed in his hand, the other was taken by that of the young whore. She led him to the other side of the room. She kept the hand holding Balum’s against her rump, letting the back of his hand bump against her while she walked.
She shoved him in a chair and sat on his thigh. She took his hat off and ran her fingers through his hair and let him lose himself for a moment with his face in her bosom.
Entranced as he was with the girl, he almost didn’t see William sitting alone on a nearby chair. The boy held an empty glass in his hand and stared wistfully out at the room of women.
‘William!’ he called.
The boy spun his head around as if snapped from a dream.
‘What are you doing sitting there by yourself, boy? What’s with the long face? Get over here.’
He came and stood next to Balum.
‘Where’s your drink?’
‘It’s gone.’
‘The women won’t talk to you? Get yourself one of these girls,’ he said, and squeezed the girl sitting on his lap. She giggled and hugged him.
‘Dan and I only had enough for one of us. We flipped a coin…’ his voice trailed off.
Balum laughed, drunkenly, tears nearly coming to his eyes. ‘That’s the saddest story I’ve heard since you boys came back broken-hearted from Fort Sumner.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. ‘Look around kid. Which one do you like the best?’
William scanned the room. The question was easy enough. He had been sitting alone for some time, longing for the women, hopelessly fantasising of what he would do with them. He pointed to a dark-haired woman much older than him sitting with her back to the bar.
Balum waved his hand at her and when she saw him she stood and approached them.
‘Now pick another,’ said Balum.
‘Really?’
‘You’re damn right. You pick out another. Let your brother eat his heart out when he hears the fun you’ve had.’
The second choice was easy enough for him. Another older woman, the make-up heavy on her face. She was plump, with copper-toned skin and large exposed thighs that she showed off with garter belts.
Balum called her over. He divided the bills up drunkenly in his hand and shoved them at the women. There was no need to count, it was more than they would have asked for.
‘You ladies show my friend here a good time. Don’t let him go till you’ve drained him,’ he said laughing, and slapped William on the ass as he was led off by the two women.
‘Now back to you,’ he said to the girl on his lap.
‘You should let me take you back there,’ she whispered in his ear. Her hand snuck down the front of his trousers. She ran her fingers along his shaft, then grabbed it in her hand and squeezed it.
‘Goddamn,’ was all he could think to say.
She nibbled on his ear and stroked his cock beneath his pants. The back of his head rested in the soft cushions of the chair. His eyes stared blankly ahead of him, unfocused. The figures of women sauntering in front of him were blurred, as were the customers lined at the bar drinking with the prostitutes.
Despite the whisky circulating throughout the blood vessels of his body, feeding his brain, he had spent enough of his life with his hackles raised and his senses tuned in for threats. An urgent awareness cut through the pleasure from the girl and he focused his eyes again.
The room was bustling. Numerous whores drew attention to themselves, and beyond them were the men, drunk and lustful. They sat with the women on the sofas and flirted with them at the bar.
Yet two men were out of place. They stood hunched over the bar. Not drunk, but obviously uninterested in the half-naked women available for the taking.
Balum focused his eyes. There was something familiar about those two figures. He watched them. They stood close together in conversation. Their clothing was tattered and dirty. Their boots were worn at the heels and their coats soiled. Their guns and the holsters from which they hung however had a worn and polished look to them.
While Balum watched them they swung their heads around simultaneously and locked eyes onto him.
Fort Sumner. The men at the bar.
Balum rose and tossed the girl from his lap onto the sofa. The two men turned. They were out of the door before Balum was halfway across the room. He darted through the whores and Johns and pushed his way into the dark night.
The inebriation had momentarily left him. His eyes panned the street. Further down where no lights were lit was where they would head. He moved along the boardwalk until it ended and he stepped into dirt.
Around buildings he walked, peering around the corners before turning, his boots landing soundlessly beneath him. He stuck to the darkest parts of town, in the shadows of buildings and out of the moonlight. He turned and weaved and finally lost himself.
The momentary sobriety le
ft him and he felt drunk again.
Those men were gone, and now he wondered how trusty his eyes had been. Was he simply drunk? He circled back to one of the main drags and stopped at a horse trough. He scooped the water out of it and splashed it on his face. He looked around him and realized he was lost. He had no idea where that whorehouse was or how to get back to it.
He wandered the streets until he picked up the noise of the seedier part of town again. The gambling houses and saloons and brothels made a noise all their own. He walked amongst them looking for the familiar facade from where he had come.
Suddenly he heard his name shouted.
He spun around. Racing toward him was Dan, buckling the belt of his trousers as he ran. Close behind him was William, his shirt, gun belt, and hat held in his hands as he ran.
‘Get the horses Balum, run!,’ shouted Dan.
They cut into an alley and ran through it to the central drag. Their horses were tied in front of the livery just as they had left them. They threw themselves into the saddles and charged down the street and out of town.
They rode hard. Balum felt the surge of adrenaline course through him. He gripped the reins tightly and held himself low along the roan’s neck.
They held their pace for a mile then slowed and looked behind them. Nothing but grass and trees and the gentle roll of the land. They stopped their horses and let them breathe.
‘What the hell just happened?’ asked Balum.
‘Yeah, what are you doing barging in on me?’ William asked his brother, still shirtless. He had ridden with his belongings clutched against his bare chest.
Dan rubbed his face and explained. The prostitute he had chosen had turned out to be the fiance of another man. It so happened that the night the man discovered his true love was working as a whore was the same night Dan had taken her to bed. The man had come through the window and caught Dan with his cock deep in the cunt of his bride-to-be.
Quick thinking saved him. He threw a bronze candleholder at the man, striking him in the head. He grabbed his clothes and ran out of the room, into the hall and into the adjoining room, where his brother lay naked, sandwiched in ecstasy between his two plump whores.
Dan held his head and shook it back and forth while he told his story. When he finished Balum laughed. He laughed loudly, drunkenly, and the laughter caught to William and finally to Dan. They covered the remaining distance to the herd weaving drunkenly in the saddle and laughing and not caring at all that in a few hours time they would be back to eating dust without a woman to be seen in all their narrow world.
21
Cheyenne lay one hundred miles to the north of them in the Dakota Territories. Moving the herd at fifteen miles a day would put them at the railheads in a week.
The men’s nerves were strung taught. They had so far avoided skirmishes with Indians, and the trouble they had confronted had been quickly resolved. All their luck boiled down to the final week.
Balum shared the information Chester had given him with the men. They agreed that getting the herd to the railheads before Witney or any other rustler got to them was essential. But no one knew how that would be accomplished.
Their first day after leaving Denver passed smoothly. The spring rains had ended but the grass was still green and the cattle were fat. They were on course to arrive in as good of shape as could be hoped for.
At night they put three men on watch instead of the usual one or two. It meant little sleep for anyone in that final week. But each knew the importance of the task, and each man could see the end and the pocketful of money awaiting them.
The second and third day were uneventful. The cattle were not fussy. The dark-hided longhorn had remained at the head of the herd since leaving Mexico. There was a routine to every day, and these days did not vary from that routine. The men rode with their eyes fixed to the surrounding horizons, half expecting riders to appear at any moment.
And they did. On the fourth day after leaving Denver a group of nine riders topped out over a hill several miles to the north of them. Balum and Charles rode out in front of the herd to meet them.
Each of them wore long trench coats, as was common of the northern rider. Each carried a weapon in their gun belt and each carried a rifle. They pulled their horses up in a row facing Balum and Charles.
‘You two in charge here?’
Balum recognized the man who spoke. He had been at the tavern in Fort Sumner and Balum was sure he had seen him again in Denver. He picked the other familiar face out of the nine, but the well-dressed gentleman accompanying them in Fort Sumner was not among them.
‘You can direct your questions to me,’ said Charles.
‘You boys hit Ned Witney’s range a day back. Seems you’re riding and grazing without having asked rights.’
‘And who are you?’ said Charles.
‘Douglass McCarry. I speak for Ned.’
‘We’re driving them through on free range to the railheads Mr. McCarry. This is free land in free country and we aim to pass through it.’
‘Not no more. See like I said, this here is Witney’s range. He don’t let nobody freeload off his land. You fixing to sell this cattle you say. Well, Ned, he’ll buy. Consider it a favor from the big man.’
‘You can thank him for the offer but we’re selling direct at the railheads.’
The man tilted his head and looked at Charles. He ran his tongue over his teeth and looked down the row of men.
‘Sully...Jake. Go down there, take a quick count.’
Two riders rode away, leaving seven. Balum felt an itch. He didn’t care for getting ramrodded by this group of thieves. But seven was too many for them, and this was no time for shooting.
‘Witney done wrote a bill of sale. Left his signature, legal speak and all. Nothing missing but the head count, the price, and your signature.’
‘Like I said already. We’re not selling.’
‘Mister you ain’t got no choice. Ned Witney is buying these up and you’re lucky he don’t just take ‘em, seeing as how you all is trespassing on his land.’ He pulled out the prepared bill of sale from a pocket and unfolded it.
When his two men returned he asked them the head count.
‘A thousand, give or take.’
‘Sound right to you boys?’ asked McCarry.
‘That’s right,’ said Charles.
‘That’s good. See, we’re agreeing on things already. Now the fun part. Go ahead and name your price.’
‘We’re selling our stock at the railhead where the going rate is forty a head.’
‘Ooh hoo hoo,’ he laughed and turned to look at his men. ‘Forty dollars! That’s a hell of a price.’
‘That’s the going rate.’
‘Well, like I said, Witney told me he wants to buy this herd. So today is your lucky day. I’m going to go ahead and make it out for forty dollars a head,’ he pulled a pen out of his pocket and smiled. ‘Ned even gave me a writing instrument to complete the sale.’
He scribbled on the paper then scribbled something again on another and prodded his horse forward. He extended the two papers and pen to Charles. ‘One bill of sale for me and one receipt for you. You sign there and you can collect your money at the Central Bank of Cheyenne. They’ll pay in cash.’
‘Give us a minute alone,’ said Charles.
They rode their horses down the hill and stopped at the chuckwagon. They waited for the two boys to ride up. The five of them put their heads together and Charles filled them in on the situation.
‘Is that receipt any good?’ asked Joe.
‘That paper isn’t worth anything but to wipe your ass with,’ said Balum. ‘No way in hell any bank is going to make good on what these fools give us.’
‘You’re right Balum,’ said Charles. ‘You know it and I know it. So do you boys. But what do we do now?’
‘We tell them there’s no sale,’ said Balum. ‘Joe, Dan, William, we’re going to ride back up that hill. I want the three of you sitting here
with in plain sight with your rifles out and your eyes open. There’s still a couple days between here and Cheyenne. I don’t think they want a shooting war just yet.’
The two rode back up to the row of nine trenchcoated men. They restated their intentions to sell at the railheads, and made clear they would not accept the current offer.
McCarry frowned. ‘You dumb bastards don’t get it. These ain’t your cattle no more. As far as I’m concerned, and these eight witnesses behind me, you just done sold your herd. Here’s your goddamn receipt.’ He crumpled the paper in his palm and threw it at Charles. The wind took it and it floated across the grass and down the hill.
‘Now if you want to be stubborn about it you can do the dirty work and drive them in for us. We’ll be more than happy to let you. But you get outside of town and you boys are gonna keep your lips shut and walk to that bank and thank Ned Witney that he’s even given you a goddamn dime for these cattle. Ain’t none of ‘em wearing brands. Think we don’t see that? You put up a fuss and it’ll come out you’re cattle thieves. Running over honest citizens land roping in their unbranded cattle.’
He took a look down the hill at the men at the chuckwagon. They carried their rifles casually in their arms.
Without another word he turned and rode over the hill. His men followed, over the ridge and out of sight.
22
‘I’d like to have shot that sonofabitch out of his saddle, Balum,’ said Charles.
‘You and me both. There’ll be a time for shooting. Let’s just make sure the bullets are moving in the right direction.’
They got the cattle moving again, though each man’s mind was far from the herd. They had no plan for how to deal with Witney’s men. If they could avoid them, or if it was possible to reach the railheads before they returned were questions to which they had no answers.
They bedded the herd down before nightfall and made camp. Standing at the fire they talked out their options. Cheyenne was so close that they seriously considered driving the herd straight through the remaining forty miles without pause. But as close as it was, forty miles was too far. They would have to push the cattle nonstop for twenty-four hours. It was too much time.
Rustlers Page 8